


Let Your Heart Hear Me

by tartanroyaltea



Category: Captain America (Movies), Marvel Cinematic Universe, The Avengers (Marvel Movies), Thor (Movies)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Soulmates, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Mutual Pining, Not Captain America: Civil War (Movie) Compliant, Post-Captain America: The Winter Soldier, Slow Build, Soulmate-Identifying Marks
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-31
Updated: 2018-03-12
Packaged: 2019-02-19 23:17:11
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 11
Words: 58,143
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13134258
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/tartanroyaltea/pseuds/tartanroyaltea
Summary: "Darcy, soul bonds are fact. James Barnes is your other half, no question!”Darcy chewed on her lip and shrugged. “But how can we be soulmates? He’s this big, scary assassin, and he’s like seventy years older than me. He should be a withered nonagenarian by now! Or dead! It makes no sense!”Jane fixed her with an unimpressed look. “My soulmate is over a thousand years old, is a prince from another dimension, and was once worshipped as a deity by the peoples of Northern Europe,” she pointed out.Darcy gave her boss the stink eye. She wanted sympathy right now, not logic. “It’s not a contest, Jane.”





	1. Photograph

  _'We keep this love in a photograph_  

_We made these memories for ourselves_

  _Where our eyes are never closing_

  _H_ _earts are never broken_

_And time's forever frozen still'_

 

  Ed Sheeran- "Photograph"

 

* * *

 

~ **2012** ~

 

“Hey who’s this dish with Aunt Millie? Doesn’t look like Uncle Frank,” Darcy asked the room at large, swishing a strip of literally _ancient_ looking little photos between her fingers.

It had been a long-ass day off, and her limited attention span was definitely on the hunt for something of interest.

Darcy’s mother looked up from her position at the dining table, laboriously sorting through a few dozen boxes of knickknacks that her eccentric Sicilian-American Aunt had accumulated throughout her ninety-plus years on planet Earth.

Darcy brandished the photos closer to her Mom, but Gloria Lewis was clearly too fed up to actually care about who was in the photos with Aunt Millie.

Even if he was a total hottie, with the curious ability to set Darcy’s heart racing over seventy years after some little carnival photo booth had immortalised that wicked glint in his eyes.

_Damn. Dat chin dimple._

“Hmm…definitely not Uncle Frank. He was a lovely man, but he certainly wasn’t a looker,” Gloria noted, her lips thinning grimly as she dug back into the melange of clutter. “Ask your Grandmother, she might remember. They all hung out back then.”

Darcy stifled an eye roll, the fairy tale meeting of her grandparents rushing back to her at her Mom’s words. It was like some Romeo and Juliet shit (minus the multiple grisly deaths and ultimate suicide). Darcy’s Gran, Lily van Vleicks had come from an upper-crust, Upper-East Side family of former railroad magnates, who were no doubt hoping that the soul-mark inked over their incredibly beautiful daughter’s heart belonged to a man of similarly refined breeding.

Unfortunately for Darcy’s great-grandparents, Fate could be quite the finicky bitch, and instead matched their innocent sixteen-year old daughter to a poor twenty-year old dock worker with a Brooklyn accent a mile-wide and a stereotypically crazy Sicilian family.

Of course, Darcy’s Gran, still as refined as ever despite her advanced age, insisted that it was Fate that consistently convinced her to climb out her bedroom window each evening and scurry off to various dancehalls in the ‘rough part of town’. Until, one night, who should ask her to dance, but her soulmate, one Calogero Russo, who had broken his own solemn vow to never dance to a Charlie Barnet song by asking the posh, knockout blonde to take a spin around the dancefloor.

And that was that. Fate strikes again.

Everyone had a soulmate. Aunt Millie’s was Francesco Lazzari, a quiet geology professor from mainland Italy (to her staunchly Sicilian Father’s immense disapproval), but she didn’t meet him until she was thirty-three and on a solo vacation to the Vatican to pray that the Lord would hurry the hell up and give her  a soulmate and some babies.

But finding your soulmate didn’t actually guarantee a smooth-sailing relationship, nor a profusion of offspring. The closest thing to children Aunt Millie ever had were her nieces and nephews, and Darcy had always considered the chain-smoking and highly-inappropriate old woman to be a third, really awesome Grandma.

So, considering her Aunt’s long road to soulmated bliss, Darcy thought it was pretty understandable that there would be evidence of earlier flirtations lying around the house. While some people refused to engage in romantic relationships with anyone other than their soulmates, most of Darcy’s generation were happy to fool around a bit before Fate finally gave it up.

So, yeah. Darcy was totally fine with being twenty –two years old and still not bonded.

Totally fine. So what if almost all of her college friends had already found their other halves? Really, she wasn’t even a quarter of a century. She had _loads_ of time to find her soulmate.

Loads.

Huffing and puffing as she pulled herself to her feet after sitting for hours on the hardwood floor, Darcy hobbled off in search of her Gran, who had made noises about clearing out one of the bedrooms. As Aunt Millie had moved into _her_ family home upon the death of her parents, it sort of went unspoken that the house they were tidying and prepping for sale had also, once upon a time, been the childhood home of Darcy’s grandpa, who had passed away less than a year ago.

The vast majority of soulmates didn’t survive more than a couple of years without their other half, either as a result of suicide or rapid physical and mental deterioration. Darcy prayed to whatever deity was out there calling the shots that her beloved Gran wouldn’t be part of that majority.

Pushing aside her morbid thoughts, Darcy pasted on a cheerful smile as she approached her Gran, who was perched at the kitchen table and cradling a steaming cup of tea between her delicate hands.

“Hey, Gran, look at these cool pictures I found of Aunt Millie! She was such a babe back in the day, huh?” Darcy grabbed a well-earned glass of water and plopped herself down at the table, completely devoid of the natural grace possessed by her debutante grandmother.

Lily Russo’s piercing cornflower-blue eyes dragged reluctantly away from the window, a faint smile curling the edges of her lips in response to her granddaughter’s boundless enthusiasm. Darcy was so like her grandfather, full of energy and guileless charm.

“Oh, that was before the war,” she said mildly, gently taking the worn strip of photos from Darcy’s hand for a closer look. “Your Great-Aunt had boys lining up to take her dancing as soon as she turned fifteen. She was the belle of Brooklyn, I’m telling you. But James was always her favourite. He was as much of a flirt as she was. They were thick as thieves…until he went off to the War. Poor boy.” She sighed. There had been so many ‘poor boys’, back then. After Pearl Harbour, every man of age was suddenly clamouring to join Europe as it tore the world apart. Including her Cal, who somehow made it back alive with nothing more serious than a broken leg and an impressive grasp of the Greek language.

They had been so fortunate, to have so many years together.

“Poor boy? Did he die?” Darcy asked, interrupting her Gran’s spiralling thoughts.

To Darcy’s surprise, her usually mild Gran fixed her with a bit of a critical stare.

“What do they teach you in History classes, these days? Only history after the Cold War?”

Darcy snorted and grinned unrepentantly at her Gran’s snobbish tone.

Darcy’s memories of High School History classes were foggy….mostly because her teacher, Mr Isaacs, was both young and reasonably attractive, therefore making him the most widely desired teacher in the somewhat sequestered Catholic all-girl’s school.

Most history lessons consisted of doodling hearts with the name ‘Darcy Isaacs’ inked artfully within them, and admiring her ‘future husband’ with her giggling friends.

“Um, no. I think we did a bit of World War Two. Why, is this guy some big hero?”

Gran tutted. “This is James Barnes. He was best friends with Steven Rogers. The pair of them were inseparable before the War, and then-”

Darcy slapped an open palm on the table. “Woah! Back it up, Gran! You mean Steven Rogers as in _Captain America_?!”

The good ol’ Captain being defrosted (alive and still absolutely smokin’ hot, thank you very much) had been _the_ news story of the past year. It was unbelievable.

Almost as unbelievable as aliens in New Mexico, but still pretty cool.

“Yes. Steve Rogers. Nice boy. Quite shy though, and so tiny! He had a talent for blending into the walls at dances, if I remember correctly. I could never understand why he went to them at all, he always looked so miserable.”

“Oh my God, Gran! You knew Captain America back in the day! That is so cool!” Darcy gushed, feeling both amazed and a little bit irked that this was the first time her Gran had thought to mention that she knew America’s #1 icon/hero who had recently risen from the (not so) dead.

Gran shrugged, taking a discreet sip of tea. “Well, dear, he wasn’t Captain America then. He was just a small boy who followed your Aunt’s paramour around like a shadow.”

Darcy glanced back at the photos lying on the worn kitchen table, and wondered for the second time why she felt all funny when she looked at this James Barnes guy. He had probably been six feet under for a few decades.

“So, he died in the War,” she surmised, tapping the photos with a chewed up fingernail.

“Yes, just before it ended, actually. Very tragic. He wasn’t much older than you are now, dear. Camilla was genuinely torn up about it. Not that their relationship was particularly serious, of course, just some dancing and holding hands. Maybe a little kiss or two. Nothing like what you young people get up to today in the name of ‘dating’,” she added with faux-disapproval, mostly  to see the mischievous look on her granddaughter’s face.

Darcy laughed, tucking the photo strip in her back pocket and shooting her Gran an expression of patented-innocence. “I know, it’s scandalous what those young people are getting up to these days! Kissing in public! Living together outside wedlock! Disgraceful! What is the world coming to?”

Gran smiled, her eyes dancing with mirth. “So glad that you agree, dear. Perhaps the Nuns got through to you after all,” she added drily, well-aware of Darcy’s strong prejudice against the Sisters and their ‘sex is a sin’ speech that was recited on a daily basis.

Honestly, if they hadn’t talked about it so much, Darcy might not have ended up sleeping through a good portion of the neighbouring all-boys school in an effort to find out what all the fuss was about.

Her less-than shiny reputation was all their fault, really.

“Well, I’d better get back to it. Mom’s one box of knickknacks away from a breakdown, I can tell,” Darcy sighed, dragging herself back to the living room and wishing that the day would hurry up and be over already.

.

.

.

When Darcy peeled off her jeans before falling into bed that night, a little strip of paper fluttered to the floor.

Smiling at the old photos, Darcy pinned them carefully to her cluttered corkboard in memory of her really great Great-Aunt Millie.

And maybe that poor James Barnes, too.

 

* * *

  

The subject of soulmates and soul-marks could be a touchy one. It was, after all, an intensely intimate aspect of each person, but as with anything concerning relationships and sex, it tended to end up as popular gossip fodder.

Darcy’s soul-mark had fallen under heavy scrutiny in the fifth grade, when one  day in the changing rooms a ‘popular’ girl had loudly noted that, going by the weird marks, Darcy’s soulmate was probably an alien. The rumour had taken on a life of its own, as rumours often do, and within a few short days, the entire school was gossiping about her otherworldly paramour and when he was likely to make an appearance in his bitchin’ spaceship.

Even Darcy’s fairly firm confidence had been somewhat rattled, until Lucy Armstrong, a quiet girl from her year, approached her during a lunch hour in the library and revealed part of her own soul-mark. Darcy had never seen anything like the beautiful swirls and curls adorning Lucy’s milk-bottle skin, and said so.

Lucy had beamed and told her that it was Thai. She was trying to learn the language in preparation for meeting her soulmate.

And that gave Darcy an idea. She would find out what language _her_ soul-mark was written in, and in doing so, hopefully learn a bit more about the culture of her other half. It would be fun.

Except, after months of fruitlessly trawling through Encyclopaedias and even the Internet in an attempt to match samples of pretty much every frickin’ language on Earth to the words scrawled across her inner forearm, Darcy had to concede that perhaps everyone had been right. Her other half was an alien. An alien with a written language that looked like it wanted to be Latinate, but was just a bit…off. There were some squiggles that looked suspiciously like ‘m’, and the second word looked like ‘He’. That was really all she had to show after three years of research. She had been quite put out when her search yielded no results, and decided to give up on the stupid thing in a typical fit of teenage ennui.

It wasn’t until Junior year of high school, when fooling around behind a bar with a college freshman majoring in Russian Lit that Darcy learned her soul-mark was Russian, made so difficult to understand by the scrawling cursive it had been written in.

She had been pretty tipsy on vodka at the time and was quite confident that she and her Russian soulmate were going to get on swimmingly. The next day, when her hangover had sufficiently cleared, she had thrown herself into researching Russian culture, and inadvertently fallen under the thrall of Cold War-era politics, which later inspired her to major in political science at college.

In fact, it wasn’t until college that she had sussed out a close translation of her soul-mark, courtesy of  a helpful Russian friend-of-a-friend in college who informed her that the words etched in her skin were a retro colloquial term that roughly went like this:

“I can’t believe this is happening.”

Now, Darcy liked to think of herself as an optimistic person by nature, but even she had had to concede that the phrase was pretty ambivalent. Was her soulmate so wowed by her beauty and pizzazz that he couldn’t believe his good fortune?

Or could he not believe his bad luck in being paired off with a poli-sci student with limited career prospects , an unhealthy attachment to a wide array of tv shows, and the attention span of a goldfish?

She wouldn’t know which way Fate was gonna swing it until the day itself arrived, so she made a conscious effort not to sweat it. Between one alien invasion and the next (and a third in London, to complete the charm), it was easy enough for Darcy to ignore the nagging worry that was her soul-mark.

Besides, she was fairly confident that she was a good catch, and that her soulmate would be smart enough to see that, even at their first meeting.

So, of course, Fate just _had_ to prove her wrong.

That bitch.

 

* * *

 

 

~ **2016** ~

 

Sometimes, during her middle-of-the-night/ungodly-hour-of-the-morning coffee trips, Darcy would have something of a spiritual, philosophical moment, and ask how her life had ended up like this.

She had been a perfectly ordinary girl, living a perfectly ordinary existence right the way through until her early twenties, when a lacking six science credits threatened to derail her college career and she made the half-pissed decision to email a certain Dr Jane Foster, pariah of the academic science community.

Fast-forward over four years, and the list of Freaky Shit that Darcy had experienced was far beyond what she could ever have imagined, in spite of her borderline unhealthy obsession with science fiction and anything Harry Potter.

She had not only survived but _thrived_ through meeting an actual god-prince-alien dude who could control thunder and lightning, a weird alien-robot that breathed fire ransacking the tiny New Mexico town she was then calling home, succeeded in _not_ throttling Jane when they were tricked into travelling to Norway during the Battle of New York, _and_ she had totally, actively helped save the world when some elves who looked _nothing_ like Legolas showed up in London with plans to wipe out the entire universe.

“You’re a badass, Darcy Delilah Lewis. A total badass,” she informed her slightly blurry reflection in the elevator mirror.

Oh, and where was that elevator, you might ask?

Motherfuckin’ Stark Tower, y’all.

In Manhattan. In New York.

Ninety-three floors of male ego dominating the Big Apple skyline, and she lived there.

With the Avengers.

All of ‘em. Iron Jackass, sweetie-pie Bruce Banner, her idol Natasha Romanov, Archery Jackass, Cap, Bird Brain Wilson, Humanoid Jarvis, and of course, the God of Thunder himself. When he wasn’t on a variety of diplomatic missions back to the Golden Kingdom of Discriminating Against Humans and Calling Them Goats to Their Faces (Jane had never let that one go).

There were a couple of newbies she hadn’t met before, one a witchy Eastern European girl whom she referred to as ‘Hermione’ in her head, and an old friend of Cap’s who may or may not have been the Winter Soldier once upon a few decades.  Oh, and he was also that James Barnes guy who had been totally sweet on her Great-Aunt. Neat.

Darcy mentally referred to him as ‘Hermit,’ because nobody but Steve or Wilson ever seemed to spend time with him, at least at first. Thor was her main source of Avengers gossip, and he steadfastly insisted that both Hermione and Hermit were well on the road to recovery from their various, deeply upsetting traumas.

She didn’t get much more info from Thor, though, because Cap had drilled him pretty hard on the concept of ‘Classified’, but thankfully Darcy had always had a knack for datamining, and the Black Widow Windfall of 2014 (as it had been affectionately nicknamed by the hacking community) had provided her with _months_ of nonstop awesome information.

Point One: she had always disliked SHIELD, the stinking iPod thieves, and was somewhat vindicated that the organisation had turned out to be riddled with super-evil Hydra agents.

Point Two: reading just one file pertaining to the Black Widow’s past had been enough to frighten the bejeebus out of Darcy, but not enough to stop her girl-crushing on Natasha Romanov. She was _awesome_ , end of story.

Point Three: reading just one file pertaining to the Winter Soldier’s past was enough to have Darcy reaching for the Kleenex, because the shit Hydra had put that guy through for seventy years was beyond horrendous.

Point Four: she _never, ever_ wanted to be on Wanda Maximoff’s bad side. True, they hadn’t met yet, but Darcy planned to gift the girl with a basket of homemade mini muffins a.s.a.p. as a sort of offering/future insurance against soul-destroying flashbacks. Those didn’t sound fun at all.

There was probably a Point Five, but, Darcy mused to her reflection, it was just getting too late for her poor brain to function. Or too early, depending on your view.

Damn Jane and her stupid stars, messing with Darcy’s sleep cycle.

And god bless the hipster ‘coffee bar’ in the Village that stayed open 24/7.

Darcy was inhaling the mouth-watering scent of Venezuelan light roast like a drug-addict when the elevator slid to a smooth stop with a little ‘ding.’

Before Darcy could wonder who was likely to be hopping aboard at this hour of the morning, the doors slid open to reveal a sweaty and slightly dishevelled Captain America.

_God bless America._

Darcy’s mouth went dry, and she was fairly certain she could hear a chorus of angels singing somewhere in the distance as she croaked out a “Hi.”

Damn, was he the hottest ninety-year old on the planet or what? No one had any right to look that good after a 3am workout, it was a disgrace.

Steve offered her a small smile in greeting, before turning to glance over his shoulder with a look of concern. It was only then that Darcy noticed the equally tall and buff shadow lurking just behind Cap.

It was the Hermit.

She honestly tried not to stare too much, but it was pretty much like seeing a unicorn. A unicorn with a sinister-looking metal arm that was completely on display courtesy of a sweaty muscle-shirt.

Wow. Just wow.

The two oldies seemed to have a silent, intense conversation before finally edging into the spacious elevator. The ex-Winter Soldier stood as close to the doors as physically possible, his back pressed to the wall as his eyes darted rapidly around the confined space.

Darcy did her best not to move, or seem intimidating in any way.

Not that she thought she could ever be branded ‘intimidating’, let alone sans makeup with her hair half scraped up, while wearing a massive orange knit sweater and pants that looked suspiciously like they could be pyjama bottoms (they totally were).

Cap stood opposite his bestie, watching the man with those big blues in a way that Darcy imagined would put anyone on edge, despite Steve’s undoubtedly good intentions.

The little lights on the floor panel slowly rolled up and up as the elevator ascended in awkward silence.

It was definitely going slower than normal.

Much as Darcy loved Friday, she suspected the A.I. had inherited a bit too much of its creator’s penchant for mischief. She wouldn’t have been surprised if Friday was enjoying drawing out the awkwardness.

Darcy let out a little sigh, shifting the cardboard coffee tray to reach into her pocket for her phone, and Barnes immediately twitched.

Darcy bit her lip and glanced over at him, slowly sliding her hand back to its original position. No need to make the poor guy feel even worse.

His intense stare and the stiff lines of his body reminded her of a frightened dog, ready to either bite someone or tuck its tail between its legs and flee.

Neither were great options.

So of course she said the very first dumbass thing that came to mind in the name of breaking the tension.

“You made out with my Great-Aunt like a million years ago.”

The second the words were out of her mouth, she found herself wondering what had possessed her to say something _that_ inappropriate in front of Captain Freakin’ America and his shell-shocked buddy a.k.a. The Winter Soldier.

She vaguely noted Steve turning to stare at her in her peripherals, but for some reason she couldn’t tear her eyes from James Barnes, whose startlingly pale blue-grey eyes were locked on hers for the first time, his entire expression one of a man who had just been sucker punched in the gut.

Before she could squeak out a mortified apology, Barnes suddenly murmured something in a low, gravelly baritone.

Something that made her heart stop.

Her words.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...yeah. Another Bucky/Darcy soulmate AU. Probably an unnecessary addition to the archive, but I couldn't help myself. I was contented Team Loki until _The Winter Soldier_ played on TV here around last New Year's, and I both remembered how ridiculously amazing that movie is, and found myself suddenly very interested in one Bucky Barnes.
> 
> This is an AU (apart from the whole soulmate thing) because I have followed TWS but picked and chosen small pieces from AOU. In my version, Sam and Steve found Bucky shortly after the Sokovia fiasco, because with Hydra dead the Buckster felt ready to get his life back on track. Perhaps needless to say, the events of Civil War have not happened yet in this fic.
> 
> To anyone familiar with my writing (usually plagued by writers' block and a hiatus or two), I want to reassure that this fic is complete, and I'll be posting chapters at weekly-fortnightly intervals (dependent upon my own commitments at university).
> 
> Let me know what you think. It's been a while since I posted here, and I've been working on this fic for an embarrassingly long amount of time, so I do feel rather protective of it as I send it out into the ether.
> 
> Oh and in the interest of avoiding any copyright issues, I'd like to say that the songs quoted at the beginning of each chapter belong to their respective artists...and they're awesome, so do give them a listen if you can be bothered :)
> 
> Happy New Year!


	2. Don't Leave

' _Don't leave_

_Shut your mind off and let your heart breathe_

_You don't need to be worried_

_I may not ever get myself together_

_But ain't nobody gonna love you better'_

Snakehips & Mø- "Don't Leave"

 

* * *

 

 

“Buck, you comin’ or what?”

Bucky glanced up at Steve from his horizontal position on the couch. He hadn’t moved from that spot in five hours- a new personal best (or worst, depending on how you looked at it.) The plain white ceilings at Stark Tower sure were fascinating. “Where?”

“The gym. It’s midnight,” Steve replied, as if that was answer enough. True, they had made something of a routine of it in recent weeks, but Bucky couldn’t have been less in the mood.

“Punk, are you nuts? After what happened last night?”

Steve turned to look at him. “You mean, with Darcy?”

Bucky rolled his eyes. Steve was about as transparent as a goddamned window; he had clearly been _dying_ to bring up the elevator incident all day. It must have been eating away at him inside.

Bucky knew exactly how that felt.

Forest green eyes and brown curls had been rolling around his head for hours.

 _Darcy._ He liked her name, even repeating the syllables in his head made him struggle to contain a smile.

He hadn’t even known her name until a stunned Steve filled him in on his ‘soulmate’ when they eventually made it back to their living quarters. Somehow it felt wrong that they hadn’t been properly introduced, given that she was the number one most important person in his life now, according to the Universe.

He didn’t doubt that she knew exactly who _he_ was. The staff at Stark Tower had almost certainly been briefed on safety procedures when he moved in; it was probably the first time she’d really heard about him, the _Winter Soldier_.

She'd certainly high-tailed it out of the elevator quick enough. The poor girl was obviously terrified of him, and with good reason. Bucky didn’t know what kind of sick joke the universe was playing by giving him a soulmate in the first place. He didn’t have a soul any more, just a kill list the length of his monstrous bionic arm, and a spotty memory that could drive him to violence at the drop of a hat.

“No. A bit before that, y’know, when I tried to smash your head in,” Bucky replied acerbically, shame and anger warring within him at the memory.

_He had Steve pinned to the mat, bionic hand wrapped tight around his throat. His ears pounding with the sound of his heartbeat, a phantom voice telling him to ‘KILL. KILL THE MISSION’-_

Steve just shrugged, like it was no big deal, and went back to filling bottles with water.

“Both Dr Levantis and Sam said that the odd setback is normal at this stage. Can’t let it derail all the progress you’ve made, Buck. Chances are it won’t happen again.”

He was so goddam infuriating sometimes, the know-it-all. The fuck did he know about what was going on inside Bucky’s head. Bucky didn’t even know himself, 99% of the time.

“And if it does, you gonna come back and haunt me after I kill you?”

“There’s no way you’re gettin’ rid of me now, jerk,” Steve replied with a smirk, lobbing a full bottle at Bucky’s head.

The metal hand shot up automatically to catch it.

He hated the fucking thing.

But it never missed.

 

* * *

 

“Another!” Darcy cried, slamming her empty shot glass on the bar with a bit more gusto than necessary. The bartender eyed her warily and she grimaced. Not like she smashed the damn thing on the floor.

“Do you think you should maybe…pace yourself, Darce? We’ve only been here five minutes and you’re on shot number three,” Jane said, anxiously. She was nursing some fancy craft beer that Darcy could tell she didn’t even like.

“My friend here will have a tequila. Thanks, dude,” Darcy informed the bartender, slapping down another bill.

Jane scrunched up her nose. “Oh, Darcy. Tequila’s never a good idea. I always end up vomiting somewhere and you usually end up giving the whole bar an unwanted striptease.”

“Jane. I need alcohol. Hard alcohol. My life has gone to shit in the past twelve hours, and I need to wipe it all from my mind,” she whined, slumping forward on the bar and twisting her fingers into her hair.

Jane laid a sympathetic hand on her assistant’s shoulder. “Darcy, you don’t need to get drunk. You just need to talk it out. It’s natural to feel overwhelmed -”

“Oh thank god, you’re just in time,” Darcy informed the bartender as he placed their drinks and lime wedges in front of them. She leaned to her left, snagging a salt shaker and proceeded to prep the back of her hand.

“Bottoms up!”

Jane followed suit out of loyalty, screwing her face up as she jammed the lime between her teeth. God, did she _hate_ tequila.

“Darcy, please. I’m just trying to be a good friend. I’m worried about you,” Jane tried, not feeling the slightest bit guilty that she was stooping to the ‘worried friend’ card so soon in the evening. Darcy had been an absolute wreck when she returned to the lab post coffee-run that morning, but she had simply informed Jane that she had met her soulmate, a certain James Buchanan Barnes, and then insisted that they get back to work immediately, because it wasn’t a big deal.

Jane knew it was definitely a Big Deal.

“Jane, stop guilt-tripping me!” Darcy whined, already feeling her resolve crack.

“Just…tell me what happened, in full. I’m sure it’s not as bad as you think,” Jane soothed.

“The guy looked like he couldn’t decide whether to cry or throw up. I don’t think I’ve ever seen another person look so horrified, and, Jane, he was tortured by Hydra for _seventy years_! He knows horrifying!”

Jane tutted and rolled her eyes. “I’m sure he was just shocked, like you. Most people react that way when confronted with their soulmate. I did, Thor did. I’m telling you, it’s natural to feel overwhelmed at first, you just have to push past it.”

“No.”

Jane ground to a halt at the dejected tone of Darcy’s voice. “No?”

Darcy sighed and turned to look at her. “No. I’m not going to push past it. It’s a bad idea, the whole thing is whack.”

Jane’s eyebrows shot up. “Darcy, he’s your soulmate. Nature and the powers that be say you two are _perfect_ for each other! How can you not want to pursue that?”

“ _The powers that be_? What kind of scientist are you?” Darcy grumbled, signalling the bartender for another round. Mercifully, it was a quiet Tuesday night, and there was a definite lull in customers, so her shots were arriving pretty much instantaneously.

_Finally, the Universe is giving me a break._

Jane got a glint in her eye that said a Science! lecture was about to be served.

Darcy necked another tequila.

“Darcy, soulmates are scientific _fact_ and you know it! They’re only super romanticised and tied up with things like ‘fate’ and ‘destiny’ because our forefathers didn’t understand science like we do! Soul bonds are _fact._ James Barnes is your other half, no question!”

Darcy chewed on her lip and shrugged. “But how can we be soulmates? He’s this big, scary assassin,  and he’s like seventy years older than me. He should be a withered nonagenarian by now! Or dead! It makes no sense!”

Jane fixed her with an unimpressed look. “My soulmate is over a thousand years old, is a prince from another dimension, and was once worshipped as a deity by the peoples of Northern Europe,” she pointed out.

Darcy gave her boss the stink eye. She wanted sympathy right now, not logic. “It’s not a contest, Jane.”

 

* * *

 

“…And Thor told her they were the best doughnuts he’d tasted in the whole Nine Realms. Which was news to all of us, ‘cause we figured doughnuts were just an Earth thing. Darcy still brags about it.”

Bucky suppressed an eye roll. It was never a good idea to take your eyes off your opponent, even for a split second. It was tempting, though. Steve had been dropping 'random' facts about Darcy into conversation for the past hour, and Bucky’s patience was wearing thin.  “Jesus, punk. Are we talkin’ like a pair of broads or am I kickin’ your ass?”

Steve shrugged, aiming a low kick.

“I’m multitasking.”

Bucky blocked him, barking out a laugh. “You’ve been spending too much time with Natalya. You’re startin’ to sound just like her.”

Steve pinked around the ears and fumbled slightly, giving Bucky the opportunity to deliver a swift undercut that sent the Cap straight to the mat.

“Pity you still can’t fight like her, though,” he added, grinning.

Steve was too busy catching his breath to respond.

“Done?” Bucky asked, looking down at him in amusement.

“With sparring? Yeah, I was done about a half hour ago. Done talkin’ to you about Darcy? No.”

Bucky’s face immediately shuttered, like blinds falling over a window.

“Leave it,” he warned, voice low as he strode away.

For a second Steve expected him to storm out of the gym all together, but a water bottle was pressed into his hand almost immediately, and he smiled as his friend sat next to him.

They both took long draws of the water, weary after their intense workout. Still, Steve knew he just couldn’t leave well alone. It was one of his best and worst traits; always had been.

“Buck, c’mon. We have to talk about this,” he cajoled, voice firm. “You can’t just ignore her-”

Bucky shut his eyes, jaw clenching. “Am I talkin’ to Steve right now, or the Captain?”

“Steve, of course.”

“Then quit telling me what to do!” Bucky snapped, eyes flashing at him.

“Buck, I’m not telling you what to do. You’ve had enough of that to last you a lifetime. An _enhanced_ lifetime. But can I just throw in my two cents here?”

Bucky nodded slowly, staring at his feet intently.

“I can’t even imagine what you’re going through. Meeting your soulmate at all, let alone at a time like this, but honestly? I think this is a great thing,” Steve began, ignoring Bucky’s incredulous look. “You’ve been making leaps and bounds these past few months and you’re only getting better. And now you’ve met your soulmate. I don’t like to think what could have happened if you’d met her a year ago. Or twenty years ago.”

Bucky flinched. Steve leaned over and placed a warm hand on his shoulder.

“I think this might be the universe finally, _finally_ , giving you a shot at the happiness you deserve, Buck. And I’d hate to see you throw that away because you think you’re imperfect or tainted. You met Darcy _now_   for a reason. Maybe she’s exactly what you need to get fully back on your feet.”

Bucky chewed on his lip. “And what about what she needs? I doubt it’s a nut-job soulmate whose past is swimming with blood.”

Steve sighed. People called him stubborn, but reasoning with Bucky could be like arguing with a brick wall.

“The only way to find out what she needs, pal, is to get to know her.”

Steve clapped him on the shoulder and stood, swiping his bag on the way out of the gym.

Bucky stared at the steel doors sliding shut, listening to the sound of his own laboured breathing.

His head hurt. Things were easier when his mind was near-blank.

Fewer thoughts, at least.

 

* * *

 

Darcy’s head was pounding like someone had taken a jackhammer to it. It felt like the bass music from that last club was still rattling around her skull, although she had to admit that leaning her forehead against the vibrating window of the car probably wasn’t helping matters.

But she didn’t have the energy to move.

She could hear Jane retching next to her, the cool breeze tickling across her cheek informing her that her Nobel Laureate bestie was almost certainly throwing up out the window.

On any other night, she’d be hooting and hollering, patting Jane on the back and trying to take shameless selfies.

But for some reason the earlier elation of her tequila-induced stupor was rapidly dipping into a major alcohol low. She felt her problems and fears and worries rise up within her like a big wave, and for a moment she thought that she might be sick, too.

Thankfully, the glittering phallus that was Stark Tower came into view, and after thanking the very official-looking S.I. driver and apologising for Jane’s vomit, Darcy half-dragged her boss into the lobby, where an amused God of Thunder awaited.

“Darcy, do you require assistance?” He asked, gently lifting Jane like she was a bride.

Darcy shook her head and lead the way to the elevator. She slumped semi-upright against the far corner, shutting her tender eyes against the lights reflecting all around the mirrored box.

She felt like shit.

“Did you have a pleasant evening at the tavern?” Thor asked both women, smiling as a giggling Jane started to stroke his beard.

Darcy just nodded, letting drunk!Jane take the wheel.

“Yes! We had sooooo much tequila! And I danced on a table, Thor! Or-wait…was that Darcy? Ha…ha…I can’t remember. I think I threw up somewhere…but maybe it was a dream? Thor you’re s’pretty, I want to-”

Before Darcy was subjected to hearing whatever horrifying thing Jane was about to say to her Asgardian beau, the elevator arrived at their floor.

Trailing behind the sickeningly cute pair, Darcy offered a half-hearted ‘good night’ before locking herself in her own room. She was super glad for sound-proofed walls and the floor layout that meant her bedroom and Jane’s were at opposite ends of the hall. Good call, Tony Stark. No one wants to hear loud sex noises from their boss and her hunky soulmate.

Darcy hurried into her pyjamas, running a cursory wipe over her face to get the messy remains of makeup off,  before she practically fell into bed.

It had been a long, traumatic twenty-four hours, and she was beyond done with the universe and its bullshit.

She just needed to sleep it off.

Which was probably why she found herself staring angrily at the ceiling forty-five minutes later, completely unable to nod off. Stupid universe. What the hell had she done to piss it off?

Why couldn’t she have an easy, drama-free soul bond? Why oh why did it have to be completely fucked up?

Darcy was pretty sure that it proved she was a horrible person, but she had had enough of being a caregiver. She had shoved aside her own grief when her father died, and had kept the household up and running while emotionally supporting her mother, caring for her younger brothers, and trying to keep afloat at high school. She had cared for her Gran after her Grandpa died; she had cared for various college friends who had been left heartbroken by one scumbag or another; she had mothered Jane for the past four years, and then adopted Tony and Bruce last year. She had been the caregiver, over and over again.

So, maybe when she lay awake at night, thinking about her mystery Russian soulmate, she had hoped that he would be…well, put together. With a good job and a firm head on his shoulders, and limited emotional baggage. Someone _she_ could lean on for a change.

Fate really was a finicky bitch, because she’d taken Darcy’s hopes and presented her with a semi-amnesiac, once-brainwashed and severely PTSD-ridden ex-assassin/soldier.

And Darcy was kind of pissed about it.

But most of all, she hated herself for resenting Barnes, because it wasn’t like he had asked to be stuck with her forever, either. She was too young, too silly, too _inexperienced_ to be matched with a man like him. She had absolutely _zero_ knowledge of PTSD, or amnesia, or any serious mental illness for that matter.

She was no good for him.

Fate had royally fucked up.

Her dark, drunken thoughts were interrupted by a gentle knocking on her door.

“Darcy, it is I,” came a familiar rumble of a voice, and Darcy smiled in spite of herself.

“Come in!” she called, flicking on a desk lamp.

“Hey, how’s Jane?” She curled the duvet tighter around herself, sniffing and snuffling like a little kid, trying to make herself look presentable as Thor edged his way through the door frame.

“She is sleeping, now. She made several attempts to visit her laboratory, but I fear she was defeated by her own stomach.” Darcy choked a little laugh.

“As always.”

Thor wasn’t fooled by her small talk. His automatic smile immediately crumpled as he approached her. “What troubles you, Darcy?”

She sighed. “I met my soulmate today- or, yesterday, I guess,” she mumbled quietly. Thor nodded, smiling at her.

“Yes. My Jane told me. I congratulate you. Sergeant Barnes is a fierce warrior, and a good friend of the Captain’s.” The bedsprings groaned as Thor settled at the end of her mattress.

Darcy grimaced. “Don’t congratulate me, Thor! It’s not good, it’s bad.”

Thor looked genuinely surprised. “Why is that?”

She took a few minutes to compute a sanitized answer. The last thing she wanted to do was spill her proverbial guts to Thor about how much she didn’t want to have to deal with her soulmate’s XXL baggage. The big guy had a heart of gold to match Captain America’s- he’d never understand.

She turned her face into her pillow. “He scares me.”

Only someone with Thor’s super-enhanced hearing could have heard her.

There was a protracted silence, but then she felt the heavy, warm imprint of Thor’s hand on her ankle through the sheets.

“Ah. You fear the dark deeds he has done in the past.”

Darcy rubbed the dried tear tracks off her cheeks.

“No. I don’t…I’m not scared of that stuff, I know that wasn’t him.”

“Then what do you fear?”

“It’s stupid,” she griped, rolling over and attempting to sit up.

Thor was perched on the edge of her bed, his handsome face both concerned and understanding, and she felt a big rush of affection for him.

He reached out and delicately took her hand in his own.

“Darcy Lewis, you are one of the bravest mortals I have ever met, and one of the kindest. If you fear something, I can assure you, it is not stupid.”

Hot tears spilled over her cheeks and she pressed her free hand over her eyes.

“I just…feel like I wouldn’t know what to do with him. I know he has problems with amnesia, and triggers, and flashbacks, and I don’t know anything about that stuff! He needs someone who can actually help him get better, and that’s not me,” she said, her voice twisting with sobs.

The bed springs protested as Thor leaned forward, encasing her in one of his awesome godly hugs, and Darcy found herself grateful that he wasn’t wearing his usual armour and cape.

She loved the cape. She would’ve felt rubbish if she’d covered it in snot and Tequila tears.

“Darcy, it is true the demons of the Sergeant’s past will be difficult to overcome, but I myself have already witnessed great improvement in the short time I have known him. Steven has told me much of his friend’s struggles in the early days of their reunion. I am confident that the Norns have decided that the two of you should meet now because it is an auspicious time for both of you.”

Darcy’s liquor-soaked brain could only compute the bare bones of what the Big Guy had just said, but just the deep cadence of his voice and the firm grip of his bear hug were enough to make her feel loads better.

“Thanks, Thor. You’re an awesome friend,” she whispered, getting in one last squeeze before letting him go.

Thor grinned that mega-watt smile of his and got to his feet.

“As are you, Darcy. I am fortunate to have you as a friend. And Sergeant Barnes is fortunate to have you as a soulmate,” he said, so decisively that it sounded like a fact.

Her heart fluttered, just a smidgen.

Darcy shot him a wan smile before yawning dramatically.

Thor’s eyes twinkled. “Good night. May you awake feeling rested.”

Darcy pouted. “You won’t be here for hangover pancakes?”

“I am sorry to say no. The Avengers have been called forth for a mission. We shall depart on the hour.”

“Oh.” Darcy totally wanted to ask, but she also totally _didn’t_ want to ask.

Thor got a knowing look in his eye, one that made Darcy wonder if he could read minds. “I believe Sergeant Barnes will be joining us on this quest.”

Darcy chewed her lips, mortified by the swell of anxiety she felt at the thought of Barnes out on active duty.

(a) She didn’t even know the guy.

(b) He was a legendary sniper and totally badass assassin who didn’t need a dummy like her worrying about his safety.

“Ok. Bye, be careful,” she said, cool as a cucumber.

Thor nodded and headed for the door.

When he glanced back to wave at her, she meant to tell him that she’d miss him.

For some reason, the words that came out of her mouth were: “Watch Barnes’ back, okay?”

Thor smiled knowingly. “Of course, Darcy. Of course.”

 

* * *

 

He was strapped down; forced into immobility as his instincts screamed at him to run. His mind twisted with searing agony.

“Ah Sergeant Barnes…the procedure has already started,” crooned a sickly voice from the darkness.

He felt another presence view him with cold disdain and irritation; like he was a malfunctioning machine.

“Wipe him…start over,” it said, uncaring.

The pain began.

Again.

“…Already started…”

And again.

“…Start over…”

And again.

“… _Start_ …”

He sat bolt upright, coming to wakefulness in an unfamiliar, dimly lit room.

He was sitting on a bed. There was a chair in the corner. The only door into the room was directly in front of him. The large window was to his left, the drapes pulled tightly shut.

The voices continued to battle in his head as the sweat dried cold on his skin.

_Cold._

Another voice, different from the others, caught his attention.

“Bucky…it’s me, Steve. You’re safe. You had a nightmare. You’re in your room, in Stark tower.”

_Bucky?_

It took him a several agonising seconds to realise that _he_ was ‘Bucky’, and that the reassuring voice was coming from the other side of the door.

“Bucky, can I come in?”

He nodded, automatically, then realised that did no good.

“Y-yes,” he managed, his voice cracking.

The door eased open and Steve slowly edged into the room, barely over the threshold.

“Hey, y’alright? You were shouting.”

Steve looked tired.

“Sorry,” Bucky said, immediately, feeling his own consciousness return to him, and with it a familiar sense of shame.

Steve shook his head. “Nothing to apologise for, Buck. You want something to drink? Cocoa?”

Bucky managed a tremulous smirk. “What am I, ninety? _Cocoa,_ ” he snorted, throwing back the covers and stretching the remnants of his dream from his tense limbs.

Steve smothered a laugh. “You’re right. You’re definitely closer to a hundred now, buddy. Not sure what people your age should be drinkin’.”

“Well you ought to know, geezer,” Bucky retorted, following him into the kitchen.

He settled on a nice English breakfast tea, because why the hell not? It was breakfast time in England.

Steve, the old man, set about preparing his hot cocoa.

Bucky just perched on a stool at the kitchen island, head bowed over his tea like he was inhaling the steam.

“Wanna talk about it?” Steve offered, stirring cream into his mug.

“No point. Same as always.” He shrugged, like it didn’t bother him that the same dream had been haunting him for the last year.

Steve nodded, but didn’t say anything at all. They just sat together, two old men awake at four am on a Wednesday with a whole lot of shit unsaid between them.

Somehow it helped.

Anything was an improvement on the pitying looks Steve used to shoot him on a daily- no, hourly- basis, in the early days of their reunion.

The prospect of her… _Darcy_ , ever seeing him in that state, shouting and fighting spectres in his dreams…the idea of her looking at him with pity, or worse, disgust. Disappointment.

Just the thought of it crushed him, like there was a heavy stone weighing down his chest.

The reality would kill him, he knew it.

He barely even knew the girl, but already her prospective opinion meant everything to him.

“Captain Rogers, Sergeant Barnes, I apologise for disturbing you.” The cool voice of Stark’s A.I. jolted Bucky from his spiralling thoughts.  “Agent Romanov has asked me to inform you that she has made a discovery pertaining to a Hydra base located in Florida. She suggests the team fly out as soon as possible, Captain.”

Steve had already adopted his ‘Captain America’ face.

“Thank you, Friday. Please ask Natasha and the rest of the team to meet me in conference room eight in fifteen minutes for briefing. We’ll leave base at 0500 hours.”

“Affirmative, Captain, I have relayed the necessary information to all parties.”

“Thank you,” Steve repeated, necking the last of his cocoa.

“Oh, and Agent Romanov requests that you ‘either keep your phone on your person at all times, or that you quit acting like the old man you are and take the phone off silent’”, Friday added, sounding a lot like she was quoting Natasha verbatim.

Bucky smothered a laugh.

Steve glanced at him, a small smile curling the edge of his lips. “Will do, Friday.”

Bucky poured the rest of his tea down the sink.

“You gonna try to get more kip?” Steve asked, a bit too casual.

Bucky glanced at the clock over the stove, aiming for a nonchalant shrug that probably just looked defeated. “No point in trying to sleep. Wheels up in less than an hour.”

Steve got that stubborn wrinkle on his forehead. “Maybe you should sit this one out, Buck-”

“No way, punk. I’m goin’. Ain’t a thing you can say to stop me. I’m older’n you, remember?” he retorted with a lazy, partly-forced grin and a light punch to Steve’s shoulder.

Steve had been more anxious about Bucky joining the team on missions than Bucky had been himself.  He understood- from Steve’s point of view, it was only a few months since Bucky had flipped and pinned Natasha to the wall by her throat because Wilson had accidentally dropped a dumbbell on the far side of the gym.

But he had improved, little by little, and he was going to keep improving.

_Don’t look back, just keep moving forward._

Bucky tried not to think too hard about why being out on the proverbial battlefield made him feel just that little bit better about himself, but it did. For the most part, he just hung back at the edges with Barton, ready to pick off any interlopers heading for the core of the group. So far, he hadn’t needed to shoot to kill, and that felt good.

Steve eyeballed him for a few more seconds, in full-on Captain mode, until his expression softened. “Alright, Buck. You got it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A lot of self-doubt from our lovely duo there! Much as it's tempting to write a tale where they immediately skip off into the sunset together, they both have a _long_ way to go before that happens. Please also expect a lot of unsolicited advice from other members of the Avengers (they're a nosey, interfering bunch), and a heap of Darcy and Bucky being a bit stupid about their feelings for one another.
> 
> It'll be a long road, but they'll get to that sunset by the end of the fic, I promise!
> 
> Thank you all so much for the amazing feedback so far, it made my week of suffering from the dreaded Aussie flu a bit more bearable. I hope this chapter doesn't disappoint!


	3. Darkest Hour

_'It wasn't meant to be like this_

_A life for someone else_

_There's a road to the righteous_

_That doesn't lead through hell_ _'_

Charlotte OC- "Darkest Hour"

* * *

 

“Hey, Mean’N’Green, you’ll never guess what I heard via the assassin grapevine,” Tony sang, sailing into Bruce’s lab at a ridiculous hour of the morning. There wasn’t a single resident in the Tower who kept a normal sleeping pattern.

The scientist sighed, saving his spreadsheet and shutting his laptop. There was never any chance of getting solid work done when Tony was around, no point in fighting it.

Peering at his genius-billionaire-best friend approach over the rim of his glasses, Bruce noted the controlled, jerky movements that indicated raised stress levels.

“Mission?” He half-sighed, half-asked.

Tony clapped his hands together in a weird sort of rhythm, distractedly nosing at the various notes and pieces of equipment littered on the large desk space.

“Yup. Heading off in thirty, Cap’s scrambling the jets as we speak. Romanov ferreted out another Hydra base- in Key West, of all places! The nerve-”

“ _Tony_ ,” Bruce cajoled, slapping his friend’s wandering hands away from a precariously stacked tower of very important notes.

“Oh, right. You want the gossip? Of course you do. It’s juicier than a watermelon in July, Brucie.” Tony grinned widely, propping his hip against the table.

Bruce sighed, knowing that full participation was required.

“Yes, okay. Please tell me this incredible gossip. I’m on the edge of my seat in anticipation.”

Tony just smiled even wider. “If you knew how fucking _awesome_ what I’m about to tell you was, you’d be way more excited.”

“If I already knew, I wouldn’t need you to tell me, would I?”

Tony elected to ignore that, pausing for dramatic effect, his entire body alight with barely contained glee.

“Guess who happens to be Double-Dee’s long lost soulmate?”

Bruce snorted. “Wait. Who is ‘Double-Dee’?”

Tony huffed, eyes rolling. “Foster’s assistant. Big mouth, best rack in the world. Wears a lot of knitted things.”

“You mean _Darcy_.”

“Yeah, DD Lewis. Literally her initials. Seriously, what are the odds of that, huh?” Tony rambled, pausing for breath only when he caught Bruce’s impatient expression. “But back to what I was originally telling you before you so _rudely_ interrupted me. Word is she met her soulmate last night. Guess who it was.”

Bruce sighed, wishing that Tony had a shorthand version.

“Um…I don’t know. Someone from accounting?”

Tony did a double-take and plopped onto a nearby stool. “No. What the hell? C’mon I said it was _awesome_ gossip which means it probably involves someone we actually know.”

“Apart from Darcy.”

“Yes.”

Bruce was probably a sick person for enjoying this so much, but there was just something about pissing Tony off that delighted him. “Because we both know her, even if you don’t seem to know her name.”

Tony leapt to his feet, arms waving. “Oh my god! You sucked the joy out of it! It’s Sergeant Blade Runner! There, you happy? You got it out of me! Killjoy, seriously.”

“You mean Sergeant Barnes? Ex-Winter Soldier?” Bruce clarified, genuinely surprised by the news. He didn’t know Barnes particularly well, but he certainly wouldn’t have paired him off with Darcy Lewis. He absolutely adored the girl; she was considerate, kind-hearted, and easy to talk to, but she was a bit like a human Chihuahua. Maybe not the best to mix with an amnesiac assassin with serious PTSD.

“Woo! Yes, that’s the expression I was going for! Can you _believe_ it?” Tony gushed, sounding for all the world like a teenage girl who had been asked to prom by the quarterback.

“Not really…is it definitely true?”

“Well, I heard it from Barton, who heard it from Romanov who heard it from Rogers, probably during a bit of super-secret pillow talk. Apparently Cap was right there in the elevator with them both when it happened. Word is Terminator was not a happy camper, and Lewis looked ready to have a coronary,” Tony babbled, producing a bag of raisins from nowhere as was his custom and cracking it open.  “No wonder, that guy is _terrifying._ Can’t imagine anyone would want to be stuck with him for life.”

“What, he doesn’t deserve happiness because he has PTSD and a murderous alter ego?” Bruce pointed out, looking at Tony significantly.

Tony stopped mid-chew, deflating ever so slightly at the comparison between the pair of them and Barnes.

“Ok. Point. Hadn’t thought of it like that. Damn, why are you so sensitive and considerate? How are we friends?” He teased, offering Bruce the bag of treats.

“Someone has to bring out your good side when Vision isn’t around,” Bruce retorted, grinning as Tony stuck his tongue out.

After silently watching Tony flip carelessly through a pile of notes, Bruce knew something uncomfortable was on his mind.

Sure enough, Tony glanced sheepishly up at him a few minutes later. “Speaking of Vision, he said I should try to talk to Barnes about the whole ‘how to not drive your soulmate away on account of your raging PTSD’ thing. What do you think?”

“Um, just tell him not to build an army of robots to cope with suppressed feelings and…nope, I think that about covers it.”

“Hilarious, Banner. Maybe I should throw in the ‘don’t run off and spend two months as a hobo in Yukon’ line, too?”

The tips of Bruce’s ears pinked. That was still a sore spot.

“I’m sure you could impart some pearls of wisdom to Barnes if you really wanted to, Tony. But I’m less sure that he’ll give you the opportunity to talk with him. He seems pretty withdrawn.”

“Hmmmm…” Tony shoved another handful of raisins in his mouth. “That arm is going to need a tune-up at some point. And then I’ll have him at my mercy,” he said, complete with wicked Dracula-esque laugh.

Bruce rolled his eyes. “Maybe try not to seem so…interested in the arm, though. It probably creeps him out.”

Tony shrugged. “Don’t care. That thing is a masterpiece of biotechnological engineering, and I haven’t been allowed to tinker with it. Not once in the five months he’s been living under my roof!”

Bruce just sighed, knowing a lost cause when he saw one. His attention began to drift back to his current research.

“Hey,” Tony nudged his shoulder, “If I’m trying to persuade the Sarge to give Fated Love a chance, you should talk to Double Dee.”

Bruce blinked at him. “Me? Why?”

“‘Cuz you have a bit of experience with difficult soul-bonds, _and,_ you can maybe give her a bit of understanding on the whole…dual personality front,” Tony shrugged, as if he wasn’t 100% invested in seeing Barnes and Darcy have a happy ending.

Tony didn’t do things like messy emotions, but Bruce knew that his buddy had a secret heart of gold.

“Fine. That’s actually not an awful idea.”

“It’s an awesome idea! Know why? ‘Cuz it’s mine,” Tony crowed, backing out of the lab with a shit-eating grin. “Wheels up at 0500 hours! Be ready to get your green on!”

“I’m not going!” Bruce retorted, well aware that Tony wasn’t even listening at that point.

He was probably mooning over Barnes’ metal arm already.

 

* * *

 

 

“Goood morning, Dr Banner!” Darcy trilled, skipping into the lab with a big grin on her wind-flushed face and a polystyrene cup in each mittened hand. Looking at her, you’d never know that she’d been drinking like a fish the night before. Thank you pain killers, two litres of water and a pan full of bacon to soak up the extra tequila rolling around her stomach. She was feeling fresh, and it was only 11am.

Bruce set aside the article he was reviewing with a smile, taking off his glasses and tucking them in his shirt pocket. Darcy peeled off her excessive outer layers and plopped onto a swivelling desk chair with a little huff, producing a crumpled paper bag from her coat pocket.

“I got cinnamon rolls today, hope that’s ok! I just felt like I needed something warm to go with my something hot, y’know?” she said, smiling as she brandished her enormous coffee cup.

“Red-eye?” Bruce asked, popping the lid off his ginseng tea to let a bit of the heat out. He had burned his mouth so many times, but never seemed to learn.

“Nah, just black for today. I’m planning on actually sleeping tonight,” Darcy laughed, her smile not quite reaching her eyes.

This was his chance. “You’re not sleeping?” Bruce enquire, totally innocent.

Darcy grimaced. “Oh, you know what it’s like with Jane at the minute. She has me living like a vampire! Like, I’m running out to get us coffee at 3am, and my mind’s saying: ‘why aren’t we sleeping? I need sleep!’ But when I finally make it to bed, I just seem to lie there staring at the ceiling, you know? Like my mind just gave up on sleeping and won’t do it, ‘cuz it’s daytime. _So annoying_!” She paused for breath, taking a big slurp of coffee before she got her second wind.

Sometimes he forgot how chatty Darcy was. It wasn’t a negative trait; actually, as a quiet person, he appreciated her ability to keep a conversation up and running with minimal input, but today, he actually had something to say, so he took her brief breather as the point to jump on in.

“You know, often anxiety is a huge factor in poor sleeping patterns. Is anything worrying you? Work, maybe?” he suggested, trying to skirt around the issue so that the soulmate topic might come up semi-naturally.

Wow, he was really quite poor at this. How did Natasha make extracting information look so effortless? The woman was a conversational wizard.

Already about to answer, Darcy’s mouth suddenly snapped shut and she cocked her head, looking at him through slightly narrowed eyes.  Bruce tried not to wriggle around on his seat too much.

“You know, don’t you?” she asked, bluntly.

He took a small sip of tea, cool as a cucumber. “Know what?”

“Oh my god, drop the act, Doc. Who spilled the beans? Was it Cap? I’ll clock him with his own shield, I don’t care if he’s a hundred years old-”

Bruce sighed, slumping over his desk, head hanging in shame. “Actually, it was Tony.”

Two spots of red rose on Darcy’s cheeks. “What? How the hell does he know?”

“Um…it went Rogers-Romanov-Barton, then Tony,  I think.”

“Gah!” Darcy groaned, dropping her face in her hands. “It’s like high school, with super people! Super _nosey_ people!”

Bruce watched her sympathetically, unsure of what to say. “I’m sorry for prying, Darcy.”

Darcy lifted her head, smirking at him. “That was some poor fishing there, Bruce.”

“I’m no spy,” he admitted with a sheepish smile.

“Yeah, stick to the science, dude. ‘Agent’ isn’t in your future, I’m thinking.” She was smiling and bubbly, back to her usual humorous self, but Bruce didn’t want her to go putting up walls just yet.

“I should have gone about it in a better way, I’m sorry. This isn’t my forte. How are you, really?” he asked, watching her carefully.

Darcy chewed her lip, tapping out a quiet beat on the desk with her right hand.

“Right now I’m a little hungover. Last night I was shit-faced drunk, and I’m pretty sure I tried to pole dance in a dive bar, which is pretty embarrassing now that I think about it-”

“I meant more…how are you feeling about meeting your soulmate?” Bruce didn’t need a psychology degree to see the panic in Darcy’s eyes, the way her whole aura seemed to shrink in on itself.

“I’m…uh…dealing, I guess. It’s been…weird,” she mused, running a chipped fingernail around the edge of her cup. “It’s sort of hard to process. I guess I feel…like I’m in shock. Which is _totally_ overdramatic, I know. It’s not like anyone died, or the world ended, so I guess I’m just being silly.”

Bruce did something that he rarely ever did: he reached out and placed his hand over Darcy’s, stilling the staccato beat of her fingers.

“You’re not being silly. It may not be death or worldwide destruction, but it’s a big deal. Believe me, I understand.”

Darcy’s lower lip wobbled precariously. “Do you?”

Bruce ran a hand through his scruffy hair. “Inasmuch as anyone can empathise, yes. My relationship with Sam was extremely difficult, in the beginning.”

“Can I be really rude and ask why?” Darcy prodded, plucking off a bit of cinnamon roll and shoving it in her mouth. She really needed a good old sugar kick.

He smiled at her. “I’m glad you’re asking, because I was going to bore you with the details, regardless.”

Darcy laughed.

“Ok, so how did the two of you meet?”

“It was shortly after Steve had moved to the Tower, after D.C. We had just started ferreting out Hydra bases and were heading out to one in Canada. The building- well, fortress, more accurately- was clinging to this mountainside-”

“Oooh, very Bond. Continue,” Darcy chirped, slurping her coffee. She was really getting into it.

“So Steve invited Sam along to help; can’t have too many people on the team who can fly. We were all hopping onto some prototype stealth- jet, and I was the last one up to the roof. Sam was standing at the loading ramp, checking his watch. We hadn’t formally met, but I knew who he was. I said ‘Sorry I’m late’, and he said, ‘Better late than never, Doc’, at the exact same time. ”

“Aww…” Darcy cooed, enjoying the pale pink blush on Bruce’s cheeks. The man practically had hearts for eyes, talking about his soulmate. “Bruce, that’s so cute. Like you were waiting for each other!”

Looking flustered, Bruce took a long draw of his tea before continuing his story. “Yes, well. It sounds perfect, now, but at the time, I was in shock. At my age, I’d assumed that my soulmate had come and gone, or that my meddling with gamma radiation had supressed whatever it is that creates a soul-bond.” He shrugged. “Long story short, I wasn’t prepared. At all. I was trying to keep my head on the mission, trying not to let the Hulk out. But Sam…he seemed excited, if a little startled. He kept trying to talk to me during the flight. The Big Guy took over as soon as I set foot on solid ground. Hydra and their base didn’t stand a chance.” Bruce sighed, his gaze a thousand miles away. “I felt awful, afterwards. I avoided Sam, and everyone else, and took off on my own. I stayed in the Canadian Rockies for two months, just wandering around on my own. I was so embarrassed that my soulmate had seen me like that, the first time we met, no less. I didn’t know much about Sam, but I knew he didn’t deserve to be stuck to a monster like me forever.”

Darcy was blinking back tears, at that point. She knew about the Hulk, of course, and she had considered what it must be like for Bruce to live with that frightening alter-ego, but it was completely different to hear it from the man himself.

Looking him in the eye, she told him firmly: “You’re not a monster, Bruce.”

“Well, half of me is, at least…Luckily for me, Sam focuses on my good side, probably more than is safe, to be honest.”

Darcy looked pensive.

“Was he…did Sam ever have doubts, in the beginning?” she asked, delicately.

“He struggled to come to terms with it, certainly. He told me that he was worried about me, that he’s always worried about me- not worried that I’ll Hulk out and do damage to him or anyone else, but worried that I’ll lose myself one day. When I eventually showed up at the Tower after my impromptu vacation, he strode right up to me and said that he’d already lost a really important person in his life whom he never really expressed all of his feelings towards, and he damn well wasn’t going to let me run off and hide just because things weren’t going to be plain sailing,” Bruce recalled, with a small smile.

“And what did you say?”

There was definitely a twinkle in Bruce’s eyes. “Not much. He has a habit of rendering me speechless.”

Darcy stared at her scientist friend for a moment, feeling all mushy and warm. “I’m glad for you, Bruce. You deserve to be happy.”

Bruce shot her a small, sad smile. “So do you, Darcy.”

“So there was a hidden agenda in that story?” Darcy asked, eyebrow raised and full of bluster.

Bruce managed to look suitably bashful.

“Maybe.  Just…please don’t write Barnes off just yet. For both of your sake.”

Damn, it was hard to stay mad with a man that cute and well-meaning.

Refusing to comment, Darcy just rolled her eyes and smiled. “Eat your cinnamon roll, Doc.”

 

* * *

 

 

“Well, it could’a been worse,” Barton declared with a shrug, stuffing his face with another Ho-ho as a glowering Natasha wiped disinfectant over a gash on his forehead with a little more force than necessary.

Bucky just glared at the archer from the corner of his eye, not willing to engage him.

For the most part, he rather liked Barton. He was still getting to know the team on a more personal basis, but he wasn’t exactly the social type at the moment, and they were by nature a group used to loneliness. Still, Barton had a unique understanding of the brainwashing Bucky had received at the hands of Hydra, and on their first meeting he had sincerely stated that he was willing to lend a friendly ear if ever the Sergeant wanted to ‘share the pain.’

Of course, two seconds later Barton had cracked a joke about his being deaf, and from then on he had been a veritable well of sarcasm and dry remarks. Bucky could tell it was a coping mechanism, so he didn’t let it irritate him too much. Barton was clearly a good guy at heart.

In spite of what Barton had said, the mission had been a total mess, six hours working over the Hydra base with very few results. Bucky didn’t think that his pissy mood could get any worse…until  Stark emerged from the cockpit, immediately eying up his clearly damaged bionic arm and smugly declaring: “That’s going to need a tune up. And I’m happy to oblige.”

Bucky would’ve _loved_ to tell Stark that he could kindly fuck off, but the truth was that the damage done to the arm was well beyond the remit of what his ‘handlers’ had taught him about caring for the damn thing over the years. The fingers weren’t responding properly, and remained clenched in a semi-fist, while the internal sensors relaying information to the network of nerve-endings and electronics in his shoulder were going haywire, telling him the arm was blazing hot one moment and then sub-zero the next. It was driving him nuts.

Or, more nuts than he already was.

“Fine,” he snapped tersely, refusing to dwell on the delighted expression that immediately graced Tony Stark’s face. The guy was out of his mind; who the hell wanted to be anywhere near a weapon like that? If it weren’t for the fact it was _attached_ to him, Bucky certainly would’ve been keeping his distance from it.

“It’s like Christmas has come early,” Stark grinned, asking his freaky A.I. lady when the jet was due to arrive at the Tower. Four minutes and twenty-six seconds.

Great. Just long enough for Bucky to seriously regret agreeing to let the mechanic tinker with his arm.

He hated technicians. And scientists.

They always made him feel like an object.

He was pretty sure that Stark was no different: all he saw was an advanced cybernetic arm, not the man to whom it had been brutally attached for the past seventy years.

Bucky dragged his feet when the jet landed, taking his time as he collected his weapons, trying to regulate his breathing so he wouldn’t pass out.

Steve and Natasha were standing at the end of the ramp, discussing something in low, urgent tones.

Maybe the time and location of their next hook-up, Bucky thought with mild amusement.

As if the whole Tower didn’t know what they were up to.

Shouldering his bag, he passed them both with a brief nod, grimacing as a grinning Stark- now minus his suit and dressed in a worn t-shirt and jeans- appeared at the door leading down to the residential floors.

“C’mon, old man! I know you can move faster than that, I saw you running today- what were you doing, forty, fifty miles an hour?”

Bucky didn’t bother to answer. He didn’t need to. Stark kept up a one-sided discussion as he led Bucky through a labyrinth of vivid white corridors and glass-fronted laboratories.

Bucky felt nausea roll through him like a wave, but he kept going, determined not to pass out like an idiot.

The arm needed fixed. Stark was going to fix it. End of story. No one was going to experiment on him or try to wipe his memory or rip away his autonomy. It was fine.

Thankfully, Stark’s lab looked more like a supped up garage, the glossy black walls completely in contrast to the sterility of the rooms they had just passed. The walls were lined with windowed displays containing several ‘Iron Man’ suits. A gleaming red sports car was parked in the middle of the enormous room.

There was even a painting of Stark on the wall. The man was the definition of ‘narcissistic’.

“Ok, Terminator. Park yourself there, and I’ll get my tools together,” Stark instructed, waving to a tall seat at a large crescent- shaped desk area that was covered in bits of machinery. “DUM-E, where’s my toolkit? No! Not that one, the other one!” Stark cried, seemingly talking to a robot that looked suspiciously like a pared down version of Bucky’s arm with a motor attached.

Bucky pulled off his outer jacket to expose the arm, dumped his bag under the table, and perched uneasily on the chair Stark had indicated.

It was fine. Nothing like the chair Hydra had forced him to sit in while they wiped his memory. Nothing at all.

He shut his eyes, trying to regulate his breathing using the ‘yoga’ Dr Banner had attempted to teach him.

The lab door swung open with above-normal force. Steve.

“Buck, what’s going on?”

He cracked an eye open. Steve, still covered in post-mission grime, was watching him warily from the door.

“Arm’s damaged. Stark’s gonna fix it.” Bucky was proud that his voice stayed steady. Of course, Steve knew exactly how Bucky felt about situations like this, but it still felt necessary to put up something of a confident front.

Rather than say anything to embarrass him further, Steve simply said: “D’you want me to stay with you?”

Before Bucky could answer Tony sailed over, the one-arm-robot trailing after him. “Sorry, Cap. Brunets only!” he sang, ushering a disgruntled Steve out the door, and locking it.

The robot abruptly dropped a toolbox at Bucky’s feet, its pincers opening and closing rapidly as it leaned closer to the cybernetic arm.

He didn’t think he’d ever been hit on by a robot before, but he supposed there was a first time for everything.

“DUM-E! No! Stop perving on the Sarge’s arm. Go clean up that mess at the sink, that’s the last time I’m gonna tell you,” Stark warned, pulling a wheeled stool next to Bucky as the clearly dejected robot rolled out of sight.

God, but the future was _fucking weird_.

Stark opened the toolbox and rubbed his hands with glee.

“Alright. Let’s get started, shall we?”

Bucky immediately stiffened, Stark’s innocent words mimicking his nightmare the night before a little too closely for comfort.

For a loudmouth and a nutjob/genius, Stark was surprisingly intuitive.

“This could take a while, and it’ll be super boring. For you, not for me, this is the best thing that’s happened in the past year as far as I’m concerned. Just don’t tell Friday I said that, okay? If she ever asks, my most magical moment of the last twelve months was the day she came online-  March 15th.”

Bucky was so bemused by Stark’s rambling that he barely registered him opening the central control panel in the upper bicep.

Stark flipped a pair of magnifying glasses onto the bridge of his nose and ran a small object like a pen over the panel. “Oh wow. _Wow._ This is even better than I imagined. Holy shit. Ok, um…what was I saying before? Bored? Want to watch something?” he asked, gesturing to the holographic screens that appeared to hover along the edges of the desk. Most of them showed schematics for car parts, but the one nearest them was clearly cataloguing the ins and outs of Bucky’s arm in incredible detail. He glanced at Stark, masking his apprehension with anger.

Could Stark be trusted to have that sort of information?

The mechanic immediately held up his hands. “I do need to have an understanding of the internal structure, Sarge. External damage is only the tip of the iceberg. Heh, sorry. Bad joke. Anyway, I promise on DUM-E’s un-life that this information won’t go beyond myself, and Friday, who will keep it on a super duper secure, isolated network. Okay?”

Bucky glared at Stark for a few minutes, but eventually relented with a nod. Steve trusted him, ergo Bucky trusted him (just a little more warily, though).

“Awesome. Let me get you set up with some entertainment,” Stark said, rolling towards one of the larger screens and tapping it until several miniature screens appeared within it.

Bucky’s heart jumped as he glanced over the thumbnails.

One of them was Darcy.

“What’s that?” he demanded, voice sharp.

_Why the fuck did Stark have a video of his soulmate?_

“Huh, what? Oh, that’s nothing-”

“Why do you have a video of Darcy?” The grainy thumbnail was clearly part of a security camera video. Anyone without Bucky’s sharpshooter eyes would never have even picked up that it was an image of her.

Stark shrugged. “Just some footage of the alien invasion a few years back. Y’know, when Thor first came here. It got a little nasty in Nowheresville, New Mexico when Loki tried to barbeque his big bro.”

Bucky frowned. He didn’t understand why there would be footage on Darcy, specifically.

“She saved a load of animals from a pet store while the whole town was getting blown to smithereens by this enormous doombot that _literally_ breathed fire,” Stark supplied. Bucky blinked at him. He had obviously asked that last question out loud.

Stark eyed him slyly. “Wanna watch it? It’s pretty great, she’s like a whirlwind. Petshop Girl to the rescue! If we could put it on Youtube, it’d have like a million views by now. Stupid SHIELD. Stupid Non-Disclosure Agreements,” he grumbled.

Bucky knew that he shouldn’t say yes. Knew that he was being set up.

He shouldn’t watch anything to do with Darcy, shouldn’t think about her or try to learn more about her. It was a slippery slope to heartbreak.

But he couldn’t bring himself to say no, either.

“Fine,” he gritted out, his bad mood intensifying. He didn’t like being manipulated.

“Awesome!” Stark chirped obliviously, rolling back to his former position on Bucky’s left and continuing to scan the arm.

Stark’s plan worked like a charm, because Bucky was immediately bewitched by the shaky footage of Darcy rescuing the contents of the pet-shop in New Mexico. He couldn’t decide if he was infuriated by her lack of consideration for her own safety or filled with admiration at her bravery and determination in rescuing all of those animals in such dire circumstances. She clearly had guts.

And a big heart.

The final video of New Mexico immediately blended into another, labelled ‘Greenwich, 2013’. This time, Darcy was running around with Dr Foster and two men, planting what appeared to be white sticks at various intervals around the Greenwich observatory as alarming-looking aliens ran amok. Again, Darcy was right in the thick of the chaos, soldiering on. Another cut, and a video showed Darcy running around in a lab, putting out not one but _two_ small fires while Dr Foster continued to sit and work at her desk, completely oblivious to the smoke billowing around her until Darcy gave her a sharp slap on the back of the head and frog-marched her from the room.

So much for her being an ‘assistant’ to Drs Foster and Banner. Darcy had seen action out on the field- frightening, bewildering fields, at that.

He was a little bit in awe of her. He didn’t mind one bit when the video looped back to the start and played for a second time.

When it came to an end for the third time, he finally remembered Stark.

“Pretty impressive, huh?” prodded the mechanic, watching him with interest.

Bucky nodded slowly. “For a civilian.”

“Yeah, she can handle a lot. Pretty tough for a shortie whose worst enemy is any form of exercise.”

Bucky felt like Darcy was being insulted, and he didn’t like it one bit.

“Where did you get that footage?” he asked. It looked extremely classified, the Greenwich one in particular.

Stark shrugged. “An old friend who just so happens to run the British government from behind the scenes. Freaky smart guy, super posh. He uses the security network to keep an eye on his cuckoo little bro all the time, so he hooked me up.”

Stark finally leaned away from the arm, carefully shutting the central control panel.

“All done,” he declared, flipping his special glasses onto his head.

“That was quick,” Bucky noted, sceptical. Had he been that engrossed in Darcy that time had flown by?

Stark grimaced, scratching the back of his neck. “Yeah, well. Those Soviets knew what they were doing. I’m going to need a few hours to let Friday decrypt the schematics and then I’ll study up. Til then I’ve fiddled with the circuitry a bit to stop you getting the incorrect sensory relays, but it’s just a stop-gap. Whole thing’s gonna need a big tune up, stat.”

Great, just what Bucky didn’t want to hear.

“Thanks,” he muttered lowly, reaching for his bag and jacket. He needed a long shower. And a strong, strong drink.

He noted that Stark had rolled his little stool back over to the screens around the desk. He flipped a small wrench in his hand (which hadn’t  _touched_ Bucky’s arm, thank you very much), staring at the screen where Darcy had been a few minutes before.

Bucky wasn’t expecting what came out of his mouth next.

“I mean, it’s none of my business, but I’m thinking if she can handle fire-breathing giant robots, and universe-threatening elves with a cool head, a brainwashed ex-assassin for a soulmate is probably not too much for her.”

“You’re right. It’s none of your business,” Bucky snarled, turning to glare fiercely at the mechanic.

Stark visibly deflated. “I know, I’m meddling, and I shouldn’t. Thing is, I’m a big fan of Darcy, and you were always my favourite Commando- though you’ll never hear me repeat that- and I think it would suck if you didn’t try to make things work.”

Stark was so uncommonly sincere that Bucky felt guilty for snapping at him.

“It’s not that simple. It’s…it’s too much,” he muttered, looking anywhere but at Stark.

“I get it,” Tony declared, fixing him with an intent stare. “Not saying our situations are the same, obviously…but this soulmate business is scary and overwhelming even for well-adjusted people. When you’re already scared and overwhelmed all the time, well…then it seems like it’s too much and you end up doing incredibly stupid stuff like building fifty iron man suits instead of sleeping, or accidentally causing a robot uprising that devastates a small Eastern European country because your paranoia and PTSD have reached such _epic_ proportions that you can’t tell the important people in your life about it for fear that they’ll decide they’ve had enough of you.”

Bucky sighed, a bit at a loss for words. “I…it’s not the same. Your past doesn’t compare to mine.” As he understood it, Stark’s worst deeds were drinking, womanizing, and inheriting a global weapons manufacturing company. It was hardly in the same league as a Hydra assassin with an unparalleled body count reduced to a half-cracked shell of a man.

Stark didn’t seem the least bit irked. “I’m not disagreeing with you on that front, but I know a thing or two about pushing your soulmate away, both for selfish and selfless purposes, and if you only take one thing I say seriously, it should be this: don’t push her away. It’ll hurt both of you, and chances are you won’t be able to keep her at arm’s length no matter how much you try. Or maybe one day, you’ll push too hard and she’ll never come back.”

Stark’s voice wavered, his formerly steady hands shaking ever so slightly.

This was a man speaking from experience.

Bucky didn’t exactly follow the personal lives of the Avengers like the tabloids did, but he recalled many months ago when Steve morosely mentioned the ‘break’ in Stark’s relationship with Miss Potts as if it were his own parents getting divorced.

Stark was a genius. He knew about cars, and cybernetic arms, and making flying metal suits.

But he hadn’t known everything about soul-bonds, and it had cost him dearly.

Bucky was no genius…but he wasn’t going to waste Stark’s sincere and surprisingly heartfelt advice.

He wasn’t going to push Darcy away. He was going to try and make good. He couldn’t promise her much, maybe not even a proper friendship, but she didn’t deserve to be ignored just because he was afraid of himself.

“So, to sum up today’s lesson of Soulmates 101: don’t try to push them away, don’t freak out, and try not to do anything too stupid.” Stark tilted his head, nodding slightly. “Damn, I’m great at this. I missed my true calling, I should’ve been a counsellor.”

Bucky snorted, standing up and rolling his arm, letting the plates shift through a recalibration. Stark was practically drooling.

“Stick with your day job, Stark.” Bucky smirked, shouldering his bag and heading for the exit. Time for a well-deserved shower.

“You’re welcome Sarge!” Stark yelled at his retreating back.

“Honestly, hardly a word of thanks. And they say old people are more polite, as if,” Tony grumbled to himself, unable to fully quash the high that was examining the cybernetic arm. The schematics were going to keep him entertained for _weeks._

A loud crash echoed from the kitchen area. “Yo, DUM-E! What are you doing to that tap?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> You'll be glad to know that next chapter we have some proper Bucky and Darcy interaction. As in, _they actually talk to each other!_ Amazing, right?
> 
> The entire Tony/Bruce collaboration just popped into my head one morning when I was out for a walk. Suddenly the two characters just started chatting away about Bucky and Darcy, and I had to rush home to try and write it all down in time. I love science bros!
> 
> Thanks as ever for the feedback, you all rock :D


	4. Symphony

' _I’ve been hearing symphonies_  
_Before all I heard was silence_  
_A rhapsody for you and me_  
_And every melody is timeless_  
_Life was stringing me along_  
_Then you came and you cut me loose_ _'_

Clean Bandit feat. Zara Larsson- "Symphony"

* * *

It was two weeks since Darcy had met her soulmate, and they hadn't uttered a word to one another since.

For her part, Darcy stuck to the labs, and the floor that she shared with Jane and Thor as much as possible. If she had to make a dash out of the Tower for errands or a well-earned coffee, she made sure not to drag her heels. Barnes seemed bounden to retain his title of 'Hermit', and Darcy was totally fine with that, because the thought of running into him brought her out in a nervous sweat.

In spite of Bruce's advice, she was being a big old ostrich and burying her head in the sand.

She knew avoiding Barnes wasn't a tenable solution, long-term, but damn it if she knew how to approach the clusterfuck that was their non-relationship.

Darcy was binge-watching _Orange is the New Black_ and stuffing her face with sickly-sweet popcorn when her youngest brother called at 1:30am on a Thursday to inform her that he absolutely _had_ to order a specially made sheet cake to congratulate his best friend on losing his virginity.

Darcy could barely hold back her ‘ick’ when he said that, and tried to remind herself that her twin brothers were actual grownups now, at the ripe old age of eighteen.

Still, he could’ve just asked for the name of the best bakery in Virginia without giving her any sordid details.

“Um, yeah Dylan, I think I’ve got the card somewhere, just hold on one sec…” Darcy said, tucking her phone into the crook of her shoulder as she approached the dangerously overloaded corkboard.

“Why the hell didn’t you put it in your phone like a regular 21st century being?” Her youngest brother snarked at her. She’d say that Damon was her favourite, but to be honest he was a little shithead, too. Twins- nothing but double trouble.

Darcy huffed, leafing through the various notes and pictures crammed into every bit of available space. She’d been filling the board since freshman year of college, and most pins were straining to hold up a little bundle of goodies. It really needed a better system of organisation.

“I _did_ put it into my phone, but said phone then fell into a nightclub toilet and went bust, like two years ago, and I’m still missing half my numbers- I…oh.”

“Darce, you okay?”

She took a shaky breath. “Um, yeah. Look, I’ll text you the number when I find it, ok? I’ve gotta go, love you bye.”

“Fine. Love you bye,” Dylan replied, just before she hung up.

Darcy let her phone slip down onto the bed as she carefully prised out the pin holding up the strip of photos. They’d been hidden behind a polaroid of her and Jane in New Mexico, and a wedding invitation from an old college friend.

Bucky and her great-aunt smiled back at her, the pictures remarkably well preserved perhaps due to being half-buried under various items over the years.

Darcy dropped slowly onto the bed, cradling the strip of photos in her hand as her eyes drank in every detail of her soulmate. The neatly parted and slicked back hair, so different from the long locks he sported these days. The suit, his tie pulled haphazardly loose in a devil-may-care sort of fashion. The way his cheeks lifted when he grinned widely, flashing all of his teeth.

 _Fuck._ She wanted that smile. She wanted him to turn to her one day and fix her with that smile, one that said he couldn't be happier than he was in that very moment.

She recalled finding the pictures in her Aunt’s house four years prior, and wondering why the man in them had called to her. Now she knew, and it should have been a sweet little anecdote that she could tell people, but their soul-bond was already shot to hell before they’d even had a chance to know one another.

Tears started to gather in the corner of her eyes, and Darcy tried to shake herself out of it.

She was being stupid- for so many reasons.

The biggest one being: they weren’t the same person. The Bucky she held in her hand had probably known sorrow and suffering, but certainly not to the extent of ‘Now’ Bucky. They shared a name and a backstory, sure, but Darcy just couldn’t reconcile them in her head.  They were two different men.

On the one hand, that was probably a good thing. Looking at her soulmate and imagining him kissing her great-aunt would be hella weird.

_Her soulmate._

Shit, she could feel herself getting all mushy even thinking about it. Darcy couldn’t believe that she was acting like a sappy lead in a rom-com. She meets her soulmate and suddenly he’s the axis on which her whole universe spins?

Psh. Bitch please. Darcy had grown up on a healthy dose of Destiny’s Child and TLC. She was a strong, independent woman, with or without her soulmate.

So he wanted to avoid her? Big deal. She’d been avoided by guys before, ‘frozen out’, as the saying went. In this case it seemed an especially ironic name, given Bucky’s past.

Hell, she’d even frozen out guys, herself. It was the way things went some times. You just had to cut ties and walk away.

Ok, so maybe it stung a _little_ that her soulmate was trying to cut ties with her. Every film she’d seen or book she’d read had depicted the meeting of soulmates as this magical moment where everything fell into place perfectly and the soul-bonded pair skipped off happily into the sunset. It was the same for platonic bonds, even though they were far more rare both onscreen and in the real world.

Ok, so maybe it stung a _lot_. Maybe it felt like her heart was being wrenched out through her rib-cage every time she thought about him, and  _maybe_ she was completely furious at this whole situation because dammit, she wanted the fucking fairy-tale!

She wanted everything to be perfect. For both of them. She didn’t want to play a never-ending game of Hide and No Seek with her soulmate. She didn’t want to think of Bucky fleeing at the very sight of her.

He was like Bruce, running away from Sam. Bruce had said that doing it only hurt the both of them.

She didn't want to hurt Bucky. Granted, she didn't really _know_ him, but in many ways, he reminded her of Bruce. Both of them were quiet and withdrawn, with frightening alter-egos that made them huge safety risks, but neither of them deserved to be seen as only their worst selves. After speaking with Bruce about the whole soulmate thing,  she’d realised how wrong she had been to gripe about Bucky’s problems, like the poor guy had any say in having to deal with them. Darcy adored Bruce, and the thought of anyone mistreating him because of the Hulk made her furious. It was the same thing with Bucky and the Winter Soldier’s baggage; she just needed to stop focussing on the negative and try to get to know the great person she was sure lurked underneath.

And she was pretty confident that he was great, mostly because he was Steve’s bestie. Steve was the goodiest good guy she’d ever met, so it just made sense that his best friend would have a heart of gold to match. Maybe Bucky’s was a little more worn, a little tarnished, but she was sure with time she could find the shiny gold beneath the surface.

But to do that, she'd have to pull a Sam.

Bucky could run all he liked, but she was going to step up and try to forge some kind of relationship with him. Probably platonic, by the way things had played out so far, but she was fine with that. Was he the most sinfully attractive man she’d ever laid eyes on? Yes. Did she have inappropriate thoughts about his thighs, his metal arm, and dat chin dimple on the regular? Certainly. But she wasn’t an animal, she could control herself around hot men. She hadn’t jumped Thor or Cap in all the years she’d known them, which she thought was pretty impressive.

She just couldn’t keep up with the awkwardness that was her non-relationship with Bucky any longer- they lived and worked in the same building for Christ’s sake! It wasn’t healthy to have so much negativity in her life.

She was going to sort this out, once and for all.

She just had to come up with her diabolical plan to break the ice and get him talking to her.

Darcy glanced down at the photos in her hands with a determined smile. "Watch out, Sergeant Barnes, there's another crazy Russo woman coming your way."

* * *

 

Sometimes Bucky looked at his best friend and saw a kaleidoscope of different Steves.

Small and sickly with a bloody nose and one hell of an attitude.

A muscle-bound figure coming to his rescue in a dank prison laboratory.

His final mission lying bloody and broken beneath him  with pleading eyes as the world tilted around them.

Other times, he looked at Steve and just saw the man he was now. A friend trying to help as best he could.

With Steve he could relax a bit, and parts of the ‘old Bucky’ would shine through, but with anyone else he immediately clammed up, becoming the grim, silent ghost of a man that they expected. The more wary people were around him, the more agitated and embarrassed he became. It was a vicious circle, not one he was sure he could break.

This was part of his reason for studiously avoiding Darcy for the past couple of weeks, he told himself. Not because he had the maturity of a five-year-old, or that he was terrified of being rejected by his _soulmate_ of all people. No. Bucky was avoiding Darcy because he didn’t want her first impression of him to be that he was a silent, cold bastard.

He may have been a born charmer once upon a time, but these days he frankly had no idea how to make himself likeable to people. Simply holding up his end of a conversation could be a challenge, as his mind was usually bouncing through several dozen memories (fabricated and potentially genuine) every second.

But when Darcy had said his words, everything went silent. His mind went blank for the first time since he broke through Hydra’s programming once and for all, over a year ago.

And it had scared the ever-loving shit out of him.

He hadn’t given much thought to soulmates while he was recovering. Hydra had spent so many years telling him that he didn't have a soulmate, that the few black letters visible on his mangled left side were just part of a tattoo, that he had actually come to believe it. It was only when a clearly disturbed Steve told him that they were the remnants of his soul-mark that he began to consider the concept of having someone just for him. It wasn’t all happy thoughts of course, for all he knew then, he had already met his soulmate while he was ‘the Asset’. The thought was too horrible to contemplate- that HYDRA may have harmed his soulmate. That he might have harmed them, himself.

Of course, there was still every chance that he could harm Darcy. He was better, sure, but he didn’t think that he was 100% stable. He doubted he ever would be.

No.

No.

He was letting his negative thoughts consume him. That was the absolute worst thing he could do, his therapist had warned him. Swimming in your own misery until you start to drown.

He needed to either address the issue, or talk to a friend about it.

Bucky could’ve gone to Steve, or even Wilson, but it was Stark’s warning about pushing away a soulmate that echoed in his mind as he rolled out of bed.

He wouldn’t let himself drown over this soulmate business, and he wasn’t going  to drag Darcy down with him, either. He just had to face it head on, and hope that they could both cope as well as possible, considering the circumstances.

He doubted a fairy tale ‘Happily Ever After’ was in the cards, but shutting out his soulmate before even knowing her seemed unusually masochistic, even for him.

Not like he had so many friends that he could afford to throw away a potential new one.

Most of all, he didn’t want to hurt Darcy. He didn’t know much about her, but everyone else in the Tower seemed to think highly of her.

He’d done enough damage in his lifetime, ruined plenty of lives. Darcy’s name wouldn’t be next on the list.

Not if he could help it, he thought grimly, as he pulled on his running gear.

“Hey Barnes, it your birthday or something?” Were the first words to greet him when he walked into the kitchen.

Bucky wasn’t adverse to mornings, per se, he had been well used to working round the clock with no breaks under HYDRA, and the US Army hadn’t exactly championed lie-ins, but something about Wilson’s perpetual chirpiness in the mornings really pissed him off.

No one awake at six am should be smiling like that. It was unnatural.

He simply ignored the question and made a beeline for the coffee machine, his favourite modern appliance.

“Well, is it?” Wilson prodded, chugging his own sugar and cream loaded coffee with his usual obnoxious grin.

“What?” Bucky grunted, leaning against the kitchen counter and glaring at the Birdbrain. Sure, he usually felt bad about that time that he ripped one of Wilson’s metal wings off and pushed him off a helicarrier three thousand feet above the ground.

Other times, like this, he’d pay good money to do it all over again.

Wilson rolled his eyes with a smirk, and spoke with exaggerated slowness. “You going deaf in your old age? I’m asking you if it’s your birthday, someone seems to have delivered you a cake.”

“It’s not his birthday for another three months,” Steve announced, strolling into the kitchen and rubbing a towel over his damp hair.

It may have been a sign of Bucky’s advanced age that he took far too long to process what Wilson had just said.

_Who the hell would make him a cake?_

It must have been sent to the wrong place. Or it was some type of weapon.

Steve was clearly thinking along the same lines as he eyed the non-descript box. A violently pink note was stuck to the top, ‘Bucky’ scrawled across it in writing that perfectly matched his soul-mark.

_Oh god, no._

“Friday, where did this come from? Was it screened?”

“The cake was made by Ms Darcy Lewis. She delivered it to your door this morning at five-twenty-two a.m. before retiring for the day. I do not detect any harmful substances within the cake or its packaging,” the A.I. responded in its cool Irish lilt.

Both Steve and Wilson turned to look at him with identical shit-eating grins.

“Open it!”

Bucky set down his coffee mug, his right palm suddenly sweating bullets. Darcy had made him a cake? What the hell? Why would she give him a gift in return for him avoiding her at all costs?

He approached the breakfast bar with apprehension, really not wanting to have an audience for…whatever this was.

Dumb and Dumber leaned in as he gingerly flipped up the lid of the box.

No one made a noise for several seconds until Wilson started to choke with laughter.

Steve just looked as bewildered as Bucky felt.

The large sheet cake was expertly coated in lilac frosting, the edges decorated with multi-coloured icing roses. Piped in surprisingly elegant writing were the words:

_Sorry you’re stuck with me forever._

“Buck,” Steve murmured, sounding like he was about to cry.

Bucky frankly didn’t know how to react. What on earth did she mean, _he_ was ‘stuck’ with _her_? She was young, smart, and incredibly beautiful. He was a half-mad ninety-eight year old with a metal arm. She had definitely drawn the short straw in their relationship.

So she had to be joking, making fun of him. Probably as pay back for him chickening out and all but fleeing from her every time their paths almost crossed around the Tower.

He suddenly felt ill.

He shut the box without another word, abandoning his coffee cup as he headed for the door.

“Buck, where’re you goin’?” Steve called.

“Out. Don’t follow me,” he replied, slamming their apartment door behind him with more force than was strictly necessary.

He raked his flesh hand through his hair as he stormed into the elevator, punching the number for the enormous, 'Avengers-only' gym in the basement.

 _Fuck_ , he couldn’t keep this up. This whole soulmate thing was wearing dangerously on his already tenuous grasp of sanity.

His therapist was going to be getting an earful today.

Almost immediately the elevator began to slow and he cursed himself for not taking the stairs.

“Sergeant Barnes, I apologise for interrupting, but Ms Lewis is about to board this elevator at Level Sixty-Nine,” Friday informed him. They were at Eighty and still descending.

He really should’ve taken the stairs.

“Fuck. Can you stop it now? I’ll take the stairs.”

Sure, it was the coward’s way out, but he was _not_ ready to see her again.

“Apologies Sergeant Barnes, but I am unable to complete your request. My protocols have been overridden.”

Bucky gawped at the ceiling. The hell did that even _mean_? Who was overriding Friday?

The elevator ground to a halt as the numbers over the door gleamed: 69.

Bucky’s heart hammered and he fought the urge to run like hell as the doors slid open to reveal Darcy, bundled up in yet another enormous knitted sweater and eye-wateringly tight jeans as she tapped away at her phone.

She glanced up at him almost immediately and shoved her phone into a back pocket with a slight smirk. That, combined with the complete lack of surprise on Darcy’s face told him that _she_ had been the one to mess with Friday.

Damn, but that was pretty impressive. His girl was smart enough to meddle with Stark’s tech, which from what he understood was practically impossible.

Wait. _His girl?_

“Uh, finally! You’re a hard man to find, James Barnes,” Darcy tutted, all bravado as she bustled into the car beside him. He could read the tension in her movements, though, detect the slight tremor in her voice that suggested she wasn’t as confident as she appeared. He didn’t mind if she needed to pretend bravery when she was around him- it might just make up for his own cowardice when he was confronted with _her._

“H-hello,” he managed, wincing internally at his stammer. Once upon a time, according to Steve, he had been a ‘ladies’ man’, capable of seducing just about any dame with his patented smile and a few choice words. Clearly those days were long gone.

Darcy, who was facing forward and watching the slowly declining numbers above the door just as he was, glanced at him out of the corner of her eye.

“Am I really that scary?” she prodded, a glimmer of amusement in her tone.

Bucky felt a light flush rise on his cheeks. She was teasing him, wasn’t she? It was a trick question, right?

He looked over at her, a strange feeling overcoming him as he took in her profile: the sweep of her dark eyelashes, the fullness of her mouth, the gentle curve of her jawline. She was really beautiful.

He felt like a lecherous old toad.

“No. You’re…ah…no-”

“It’s the soulmate thing, isn’t it?” Darcy said, in a rush of words. She turned to face him, her eyes cataloguing and analysing him unabashedly.

He shifted under her scrutiny, glad he’d chucked on a long sleeved top that morning.

“I just…I don’t really know what I’m doing…here, with us. Y’know? And it’s scary,” she blabbered on in the wake of his continued silence, nervously twisting the hem of her sweater.

Bucky stared at her for a moment longer, all wide blue eyes and open pouty mouth.

“I don’t know what I’m doing either... Here or anywhere else. Or any time, really,” he replied, quietly, the corners of his mouth curling up in a semblance of a small smile.

Darcy couldn’t help but mirror him, her eyes twinkling with merriment.

“Okay, so we’re both clueless. That’s good to know. At least we’re on the same page.”

She sounded as relieved as he felt. It _was_ comforting to know that she had been as poleaxed by the whole thing as he had been. It made him feel like less of a failure, and a little more…human.

Darcy glanced up at the numbers, estimating that they only had about twenty seconds before they hit the basement gym.

She twirled a strand of hair around her finger. “Look, I’m sorry I sort of avoided you the past couple of weeks, I’ve just…been a bit overwhelmed with everything, but anyway, it was crappy of me to run off. I mean- wow! We aren’t even properly introduced!” she declared, feeling even more of a heel than before.

She immediately stuck out her right hand, and sent Bucky a smile. “Hi. I’m Darcy Delilah Lewis. Please don’t call me ‘Double D’, or ‘Dee-Dee’, Stark’s my boss so I can’t really stop him from doing it, but…uh…Darcy’s fine.”

Bucky, who had unconsciously turned towards her during their conversation (if it could be called that), stared down at her tiny, lily-white hand for a few seconds longer than was appropriate before delicately encasing it in his own right hand.

Darcy would’ve been lying to herself if she insisted that the sensation of his big, calloused hand enveloping her own wasn’t doing something to her. The sexual ‘zing’ that ran through her when he touched her skin suggested that their bond wasn’t going to automatically fall into the ‘platonic’ category, on her side, at least.

He cleared his throat and looked her dead in the eyes. “James Buchanan Barnes. I go by ‘Bucky’.” His voice was steady, almost confident this time, and she swooned a little at the deep, slightly husky sound of it.

She just about shook herself out of her lustful haze when Friday informed them that their arrival at the gym was imminent.

“So, I know we got off to a bad start, and this whole ‘soulmate’ thing is super crazy, and scary, and awkward,” she sucked in a quick breath, gathering her courage, “But I’d really like it if we could hang out sometime soon? Just y’know, as friends? Well, acquaintances becoming friends.”

The elevator ground to a halt. He still hadn’t let go of her hand.

“Um, Bucky? There was a question in there. Or two,” she prodded, blushing a delightful shade of pink.

Bucky seemed to mentally shake himself, his eyes snapping back into focus as he finally let go of her hand. She tried not to pout, honest.

The doors opened, revealing an empty corridor. Neither of them moved.

“Yeah. I…I’d like that,” he said softly, that shy little smile reappearing. How could a guy that big and built seem so cute? And to think she’d thought he was _scary_ the first time she saw him!

 She grinned up at him. “Okay, great! Awesome, how about Wednesday, are you free then?”

“Barring any missions, yes.”

“Is coffee okay? Just in the common room on the ninety-second floor? I can stop by during my break. I usually just go at around four p.m., whether Jane likes it or not.” She flashed an impish grin, tucking her hair behind her ears.

“Sounds good,” Bucky assured her, gesturing for her to leave the elevator first.

Darcy blinked at him. “Oh, I’m not actually going anywhere, I just wanted a chance to talk to you alone somewhere that you couldn’t run away.”

He couldn’t hide his amusement at her honesty.

“Alright, then. I’ll see you on Wednesday,” he said, forcing himself to walk away from her.

“Enjoy your work out! If you can!” she called cheerfully to his back.

Bucky glanced back and shrugged. “I have to work off that amazing cake somehow,” he replied, revelling in the bright sound of her laughter.

Darcy held the elevator until he was out of sight.

From admiring his ass she was pretty sure he didn’t have work _anything_ off. Dude was _cut._

* * *

 

Bucky beat the shit out of a series of innocent punching bags for about two hours that morning, and he spent the entire time replaying his conversation with Darcy on a loop.

He was so blindsided by her ambush in the elevator that he had no idea of how to begin analysing what was going on between them.

After mentally running in circles for hours, Bucky decided that he really needed an outsider’s opinion.

A professional opinion.

So he decided to do something that he never expected, and showed up at the office of Stark Tower’s official psychiatrist without an appointment.

Dr Levantis, an elderly man (though still young enough to feasibly be Bucky’s son) with a kind smile waved him on into the vibrantly decorated office.

“Well James, how are we today?” The doctor inquired, perching wire-rimmed glasses on the end of his flat nose.

The doc asked that same question at the start of every session. At first, it had infuriated Bucky- that the doctor used the term ‘we’, like he was sharing whatever it was that plagued Bucky on that particular day. Over time, he had  come to appreciate the… _inclusivity_ that the phrase implied. As if he and Dr Levantis were fighting the PTSD as a team.

“Um…okay. I spoke to my soulmate this morning.”

Dr Levantis immediately perked up.

“Ah yes, Ms Lewis. And how did this interaction occur?” Of course, the doc knew all about Darcy, _and_ all about how Bucky had done his best to avoid her for the past couple of weeks. In credit to Levantis, he hadn’t tried to persuade Bucky away from his ingrained evasion tactics.

“She uh…sent me this cake.”

One of Dr Levantis’ snowy eyebrows rose towards his non-existent hairline, but he didn’t comment.

“And it said ‘ _Sorry you’re stuck with me forever’_ written on it, which just…messed my head up.”

“Why is that?” The doc inquired calmly.

Bucky blinked at him in confusion. He assumed it was fairly obvious. “Well, _because_ …it’s not true! She has it completely back to front!” He blustered, running a hand through his sweaty hair.

“Ms Lewis has what ‘back to front’?”

“She thinks that _I’m_ stuck with _her._ Like _she’s_  a burden, but it’s obviously the other way ‘round. I’m…I mean, _look at me._ I’m a mess.”

Dr Levantis appraised him for several seconds. “Do you believe that Ms Lewis was being dishonest or even mocking, by sending you this gift?”

Bucky frowned. “Yeah, at first I thought she was teasin’ me. But then, I was in the elevator, and she rigged it somehow, so she could get on it without me runnin’ again,” he explained, feeling the warmth of a blush tint his cheeks as he recalled his own desire to flee from her.

“She sounds very tenacious,” the doc remarked mildly.

Bucky suppressed a smile. “She’s pig-headed. I’m pretty used to that with Steve.”

Dr Levantis chuckled. “What did the two of you discuss?”

“Well, she did a lot of the talkin’. We introduced ourselves properly- her idea…and she said she was feelin’ pretty overwhelmed by the soulmate thing, too.”

“How did that make you feel, to hear her admit her own reservations?”

Bucky pondered for a moment. “Relieved, I guess. Like maybe it wasn’t just my…issues making me so afraid. Maybe that’s just a natural way to react, for anyone.”

Dr Levantis nodded, clearly pleased.

“Anything else?”

“She…uh…asked me on a date. Well, she asked me to have coffee with her,” Bucky said, voice caught between pride and terror.

“How do you feel about that? Getting to know her better? In our last session, you expressed that you wished to maintain as much distance as possible. What has changed?”

“Something Stark said to me, about…wreckin’ things with his own soulmate. I don’t wanna do that. I don’t wanna hurt Darcy. She’s a nice girl. She deserves better’n me, but…”

He trailed off at the doc’s unimpressed look. Dr Levantis didn’t like to hear Bucky putting himself down.

“So you are open to the idea of forming some sort of relationship with her?”

Bucky scrubbed his real hand over his mouth, his chest thrumming at the prospect of forging a relationship with Darcy.

 _Fuck,_ but he wanted it more than he could express.

“Yes.”

“And where are you meeting Ms Lewis?”

“The common room. Most of the team pass through there at some point in the day.”

“So it’s an area of the Tower you are familiar with?”

Bucky wasn't sure where the doc was going with this. “Yes.”

“Plenty of exit points?”

“Yes.”

“Why do you suppose Ms Lewis selected this location?”

He thought about it for a moment. “Um…free coffee? There’s usually a decent amount of food in the fridge, too.”

Dr Levantis smiled.

“Do you think there are any other reasons she chose the ‘common room’? Over, say, a coffee shop on the office levels, or the administrative cafeteria?”

Bucky frowned. He honestly hadn’t thought too much on the location of their…’coffee date’. Now, at Dr Levantis’ prompting, it became pretty clear to him that Darcy had selected the common room for _his_ sake. It was familiar to him, and the only people with clearance were the Avengers, Ms Potts, Dr Foster, and Darcy, of course. That meant he didn’t have to worry unduly about potential threats, or be put on edge by terrified civilians watching him and waiting for him to snap. It was at the top of the Tower- he could make it up to the rooftop in a matter of seconds, or to the jet hangar in similarly quick time, if an incident arose. It wasn’t a confined space by any means. In other words, it was a stellar location for a date with a formerly brainwashed soldier-assassin with debilitating PTSD.

He got a warm feeling in his gut as he imagined Darcy thinking about what kind of environment he would be comfortable in.

She was so considerate.

“Well, James. That is the first time I’ve seen you smile. Can you tell me what has prompted it?” Dr Levantis prodded gently, with a smile of his own.

“Darcy…picked the common room for me,” he explained, his voice rough with emotion.

Dr Levantis nodded, urging him on as he scribbled in the pad on his lap.

“For you?” the Doc queried.

“…To make me comfortable.”

“And why do you suppose she did that?”

“Uh…she wants me to be comfortable with her.”

“Yes. She has endeavoured to consider your needs, and has provided a safe environment for the pair of you to interact in.”

Bucky didn’t know what to say to that. There was a lump in his throat.

Dr Levantis seemed to understand.

“After your history of neglect, James, it is understandable to feel a little overwhelmed by consideration of this kind, is it not?”

Bucky nodded. There were still days where the small actions of others left him reeling because they reminded him that he was _human_. Not the Asset. Not HYDRA’s trained killing machine.

A human. A person, with thoughts and feelings and emotions.

“This is a very good start, James,” Dr Levantis commented warmly.

Bucky couldn’t help but agree.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So our lovely twosome finally had a conversation! And next chapter will be even more of that as they enjoy their coffee 'date'!
> 
> I hope you enjoyed this update, and thanks again for the feedback :)
> 
> P.s. The song from which this chapter takes its name was my number one jam when writing this fic- do give it a listen if you have a chance. It gives me all the feels!


	5. Water Under the Bridge

_'And if I'm not the one for you_  
_You've gotta stop holding me the way you do_  
_Oh, honey, if I'm not the one for you_  
_Why have we been through what we have been through?'_

 

Adele- "Water Under the Bridge"

* * *

 

_It’s just coffee._

_Just coffee._

_You drink it day in day out._

_No need to get stressed,_ Darcy assured herself.

Except that she was totally, 100% freaking out, and the little mantra she had been repeating to herself since Monday morning was doing squat to get rid of the butterflies in her belly.

She was so frickin’ nervous.

And it was totally out of character. The only thing that made Darcy panic was looking at the invoice for her monumental student debt that didn’t seem to be depleting too quickly in spite of her generous pay as Jane’s assistant.

Oh, wow. She totally distracted herself _again._

“Don’t have time for this!” she sang, frantically clawing through the heap of clothes on her bed in search of something both flattering and casual. She didn’t want to look like she’d made an effort, but she also didn’t want to look like she’d been recently mugged.

It was a tough balance to get _just right._

She had already spent over half of her precious lunch hour perfecting her winged eyeliner and brushing her hair til it shone like a Disney princess’s ‘do. But now she only had ten minutes to get an outfit together for her ‘date’ with Bucky.

Ahhh Bucky. She felt all fuzzy and stupid just thinking about his perfect face. And his lovely deep voice. And his butt, which had definitely been carved by the gods.

Damn, another two minutes wasted mooning over Bucky. Terrific.

With a pathetic whine she grabbed her tightest blue jeans and performed a complicated dance to get them up over her ass. After casting around for a top option, she decided on a pretty forest green sweater that her aunt had sent her for her last birthday. The tags were still on it, largely because the ‘v’ neck was a little more…pronounced than Darcy usually felt comfortable with wearing when there was a possibility of running into Stark or Clint.

Still, this was a special occasion. Bucky had been kind enough to show off his impressive physique in workout gear twice already, so she felt it was only fair that she give him a chance to appreciate what she had to offer.

And that was a whole lot of bosom.

To be honest, the sweater wasn’t even that low cut. Darcy’s chest just had a habit of making everything, including polo necks, look downright pornographic.

The green was nice with her complexion and hair colour though…and she had exactly two minutes to get back to the lab, so it would have to do.

She shoved her feet back into her favourite, ever so slightly worn loafers and trotted back to work.

Four pm couldn’t come fast enough.

* * *

 

There was that saying, that time flies when you’re having fun, but apparently it also flies when you’re reading a bunch of boring astrophysics data while anxiously awaiting a coffee date with the guy that the universe had decided was especially for you because 4pm showed up _fast_.

Darcy let out a little squawk of panic as she noted the time- 15:56- on her phone.

“Jane. Yo! Boss lady! I’m taking a break. I’ll be back soon!” She called, hastily giving her hair a good shake and checking the state of her eyeliner on the mirrored side of some enormous Jane-made piece of equipment.

The Boss Lady in question barely even raised her head as Darcy ran from the room, but frankly that was a good thing. It would be just Darcy’s shitty luck if Jane picked this of all days to have a mega science breakthrough.

She arrived in the Avenger’s common room right on time, pleased at her own punctuality.

It was extremely out of character, but Bucky didn’t need to know that yet.

Speaking of the Sarge, she immediately spotted him perched at one of the kitchen islands, a soft blue sweater stretching across the breadth of his shoulders.

_Ooh. Wow. Be cool, Lewis. Be cool._

He was staring down at the counter top, with amazing intensity, which was switched to _her_ the second she set a toe outside the elevator.

At least she didn’t have to ever worry about startling him.

Darcy approached, giving Bucky a coy smile and a little wave.

“Hi.”

Bucky cleared his throat and hopped off the bar stool with unfair gracefulness.

“Darcy. Hi…how are you?” he asked with a shy smile. There was a slight hesitance in his voice, but he definitely sounded more confident than when she’d ambushed him in the elevator a few days prior, so she counted it as a win for progress.

And he’d even pulled back his hair into a haphazard man bun at the nape of his neck, which was showing off all kinds of ridiculously distracting bone structure.

_So pretty._

“I’m good thanks, how are you?” she chirped, pasting on her ‘cheery’ Darcy persona as she set about making coffee for the pair of them with Tony’s unnecessarily complex machine.

Bucky hovered at her elbow, not trying to hide that he was watching her every move. She found she didn’t mind his proximity one bit.

Shocker.

“Not bad,” he admitted, shoving his metal hand into a pocket of his delightfully clingy jeans and leaning his hip against the nearest counter.

God bless modern fashion.

_And God bless Bucky’s thighs._

“What have you been up to? Eating cake and then exercising like crazy to keep the calories off?” she teased, flashing him a cheeky grin over her shoulder.

He huffed out a little laugh. “Yeah, actually…I brought the last of the cake for us to eat,” he said, gesturing to a small Tupperware on the counter.

Darcy was genuinely amazed that any of the cake had survived the two super-soldiers/eating-machines. Bucky must have read her expression like a book, because he immediately looked sheepish.

“I had to hide that bit from Steve this morning. He’s had about four big pieces every day. I’m worried his teeth are going to fall out.”

Darcy choked on a giggle as she imagined a toothless Cap.

“Well, dental problems are common among people of _that age_ ,” she grinned.

Bucky snorted, shooting a fake glare her way.

“If you’re gonna pull the age card…reckon I’ll keep this for myself,” he countered, moving the Tupperware out of her reach.

Darcy plucked their coffee cups from the machine, brandishing them at him. “Then no coffee for you, Sarge,” her eyes glinting with mischief. Bucky quirked a brow, and they entered into an unintended staring competition.

(Darcy was fine with it. She could’ve stared at Bucky all day quite happily. There was _a lot_ worth looking at.)

“Oooh fresh coffee, Lewis? You shouldn’t’ve.”

Bucky immediately tensed, his hand shooting to his lower back as he turned to face the source of the voice.

“For fuck sake Clint! Don’t drop out of the ceilings you jackass! It’s not good for anyone’s nerves!” Darcy snapped, nodding her head towards Bucky.

Barton had the good grace to look chagrined.

“Sorry, Barnes. Bad habit.”

Bucky grunted, dropping from his fighting stance and angling his body back towards Darcy with a furtive glance in her direction as he tucked the handgun back into his waistband.

She smiled at him, rolling her eyes. “You already know this purple jackass, don’t you?” she said, handing Bucky a steaming cup of joe.

He took it in his flesh hand, with a soft smile and a ‘thank you.’

His stormy eyes slanted over to where Barton stood, watching them both like a slack-jawed idiot.

“Yeah. Had the displeasure of his company a time or two,” Bucky drawled, voice dripping with censure. Clint puffed up like a disgruntled cockerel as Darcy laughed.

“Oooh burn, Barton!”

“Dude, c’mon. We snipers have to stick together,” Barton insisted with a smirk, coming forward to tackle the coffee machine himself.

“Uh, don’t snipers usually work alone?” Darcy prodded, her teeth flashing in a big grin as she took a slurp of her coffee. She looked over at Bucky, smiling proudly when  he nodded in agreement.

“Whatever Lewis. It’s Avengers stuff. Team work and all that shit,” Clint replied, turning back to them. His eyes immediately narrowed in on the box a few inches from Bucky’s mug. “Oh hey, what’s in there? Is that cake?!”

Darcy didn’t have super human reflexes, but she flung herself over the counter and slapped Barton’s hand away from the Tupperware with impressive speed.

“Oh my god. It is cake. I knew I smelled vanilla frosting the other night!” Barton crowed, his eyes practically glinting.

“Go away Clint! It’s not for you!”  Darcy cried, edging round the counter towards Bucky as she held the box behind her back.

“Darce, I’m hurt. I thought we were besties,” Clint whined, pouting.

Darcy scoffed. “Jane is my bestie. You’re an annoyance.”

“Rude!” Barton gasped, clutching a hand to his chest as the coffee machine filled a cup the size of a small bowl.

Bucky had watched their little exchange with quiet amusement, but Darcy was clearly determined to bring him into the fray when she gently nudged his elbow and handed him the cake when Barton’s back was briefly turned.

She grinned up at him and winked, making a ‘shush’ gesture.

When Barton turned to face them, Darcy was slurping her coffee loudly, her expression managing to scream ‘innocent’ and ‘guilty’ at the same time.

“Alright Lewis, where is it?”

Darcy shrugged. “Where’s what?”

Barton glared daggers at her. “The cake.”

“Oh my god! There was cake here? What the hell, how come we didn’t notice that, huh, Bucky?” she teased, giving him a gentle nudge in the ribs with her elbow.

“Dunno, doll. Didn’t see anything. Maybe my eyesight needs checked- I’m getting’ on in years,” he smirked, twirling the Tupperware behind his back. He knew damn well that Barton knew where it was, but it was still fun to bait him.

The far doors creaked open suddenly, a flash of flame red heralding Natasha’s entrance.

“Barnes. Lewis. Cretin,” she said coolly, fetching herself a glass of water.

“Nat, they’re being mean to me,” Barton whined, like a kid running to its mother.

Natasha cast them all a vaguely unimpressed look. “I don’t believe that for a second. Those two are sweetness and light,” she snarked, smiling faintly in response to Darcy’s grin.

“Aw, Nat c‘mon! Darcy made cake and they won’t give me any!”

“It’s not for you! It’s Bucky’s,” Darcy retorted. A blush appeared on her cheeks as both Natasha and Clint fixed her with smug, knowing looks.

Barton looked like he was in Seventh Heaven. His eyes gleaming with delight.

“Oh ho! So now you’ve got a soulmate I’m not going to get a look in?”

Darcy’s blush didn’t lessen, but she straightened up and stared Barton down. “Yep. You’re officially demoted.”

If Bucky hadn’t known about Barton’s wife/soulmate Laura, he would’ve been growling possessively as the archer made a dramatic show of Darcy’s ‘rejection.’

“Darce, no! Don’t end it like this! What we have is too special!” he cried as a clearly irritated Natasha half-dragged him from the room.

“It’s over, Clint! Move on!” Darcy returned through a fit of giggles.

Barton’s personal brand of annoying aside, Bucky had to admit that it had been a pleasant opportunity to see the ‘real’ Darcy, the way she was when she was around people she felt comfortable with. She was so…vibrant. So full of joie de vivre.

It both delighted him and made him feel distinctly…grey and dull by comparison.

As soon as the doors closed, she smiled warmly up at him. “Sorry about that Sarge. All sorts of vermin in this place, you get used to it,” she said, sticking a hand out for the Tupperware. Bucky momentarily debated playing keep away with it for a moment, just to see what she’d do.

It felt like the kind of move ‘old’ Bucky would’ve pulled. Teasing a dame, maybe even trying to get a kiss out of it.

Darcy was already plating up the slices of cake before he could decide what to do.

He followed her to a large, low couch by the windows. Darcy curled up small, tucking her legs under herself. Bucky sat a little stiffly at the far end, unconsciously pressing his bionic arm into the arm rest. His sweater had long sleeves, but he still preferred to keep the appendage well out of Darcy’s eye line.

Darcy was chewing on her lips in between sips of coffee, and it suddenly occurred to him that he wasn’t the only one feeling nervous and uncomfortable.

Before he could muster up a good idea for a topic of conversation, Darcy turned to him with her patented sunny smile.

“Ok, so I have an idea. Why don’t we play the question game? It’s a good way to get to know each other.”

Bucky looked slightly sceptical but agreed without hesitation. She wasn’t sure he had heard of it before, but figured it was fairly self-explanatory.

“Sweet. I’ll go first…the classic question: what is your favourite colour?”

The cutest little wrinkles showed up on Bucky’s forehead as he thought about his answer.

“Uh…green, I think. I like trees… forests and parks, that sort of thing.”

Damn, he was pretty good at answering, lots of information packed in there. Bucky was an outdoors type of guy. Cool.

“Awesome. So now you ask me a question,” Darcy prompted, smothering a grin at the anxious look on his face.

“Is it cheating if I ask you _your_ favourite colour?”

She laughed. “No, that’s totally allowed. My favourite colour is blue: sea blue, royal blue, pale blue. I just love it. It’s a peaceful colour, y’know?” she said, trying not to stare into his stormy _blue_ eyes too much as she spoke. Blue really was her favourite colour, but she didn’t want to seem like a big sap, picking the colour of his eyes.

It was just a happy coincidence.

Just like the fact that her eyes were green.

Totally coincidental.

Instead she tried to decide what to ask him next. She really had to bear in mind that he had a pretty bad case of amnesia, which made it a challenge to choose questions that wouldn’t upset or confuse him. It was pretty frickin’ difficult, so she decided to wing it with something (hopefully) light-hearted.

“What was your favourite subject at school?”

She watched Bucky carefully for any sign that he was struggling with his memories.

“Biology. I couldn’t believe half of what they said was happening in the human body every second, completely unconsciously. It was about the only thing that ever held my attention in school, apart from-” He cut off abruptly, flushing noticeably.

Darcy raised an eyebrow and smirked. “Apart from…girls, maybe?”

Bucky ducked his head slightly. “Yeah, I guess.”

“Well, the documentaries got it right. They always said you were a ladies’ man.”

“There are documentaries on me?” Bucky asked, sounding astonished.

“Well, mostly on the Howling Commandos as a whole, but you get a lot of screen time as Second in Command.” _And as the one who died in tragic circumstances_ , she thought morosely.

Bucky ran the palm of his right hand along the top of his thigh. “Huh. That’s weird…to think of people knowing so much about us.”

Darcy hitched her legs up onto the couch and curled up against the arm rest, facing Bucky. “Yeah, you’re totally a celebrity. I should be getting your autograph,” she teased.

Bucky frowned at her, but in an amused sort of way. “You’re teasin’ me, right?”

Darcy shrugged noncommittally. In fairness, an authentic Bucky Barnes autograph would make her a tidy sum on EBay. Maybe she could convince him to sign some memorabilia at a later date.

“Really, was that your second question for me?” she asked, enjoying getting a rise out of him.

He scowled lightly. “No….my question is: what was your _least_ favourite subject in school?”

Darcy tutted at his lack of imagination.

“Physics. I couldn’t understand it at all. It was like Math but ten times harder,” she said, grimacing at the memory.

“But, you work with Dr Foster, don’t you?” Bucky looked perplexed. She loved him a little bit for automatically assuming that she worked  _with_ Jane, not _for_ her. Like she was a big-time scientist, too.

What a sweetheart.

“Yup. That was an accident of fate. I needed science credits in College and applied for an internship with Jane. I got it, in spite of having just about zero understanding of Physics. Not that I really need it, I mostly do data entry and make sure Jane doesn’t completely run herself into the ground. Not much actual sciencing done on my part. These days I keep an eye on Dr Banner, and Stark, too. He promoted me to official Scientist-Minder earlier this year when he starting funding Jane’s research and coerced her into moving here.”

Bucky grimaced.

“What?”

“Stark,” he muttered darkly, as if that one name explained it all. And it totally did. Tony had his positive attributes, sure, but damn could he be a right royal pain in the ass.

“I know, right? The man’s a menace.”

“At least you don’t have him eyeing up your arm all the time,” Bucky pointed out, shifting his metal arm slightly so that Darcy could hear the faint whir of the electronics under his sleeve.

“Yeah, _right_. I feel so sorry for you. Not like he’s ever eyed any of my _attributes_ like a perv,” she said, dripping with sarcasm. Bucky frowned in confusion before a flash of irritation shot across his face. It was just a split second, but Darcy felt all at once smugly delighted, mildly bothered as a feminist, and fearful for Tony’s life.

He did sign her pay checks, after all.

And, in his defence, he did make a valiant effort not to converse solely with her breasts these days. The notorious playboy took many a surreptitious glance, but she couldn’t really hold it against him. The girls were pretty damn noteworthy, if she did say so herself.

“Ok, my turn. Um who is your favourite Avenger? You can’t pick yourself.”

Bucky looked at her in surprise. “I’m not an Avenger.”

“Sure you are. Now answer my question. No dodging.”

She was 99% sure he would say Steve, so she nearly fell off her seat when he swiftly said: “Dr Banner.”

“Woah. I could break Steve’s heart with that info!”

Bucky let out a small chuckle. “Steve’s like a mother hen, always fussin’ round me. Little punk. Barton, Stark, and Wilson are all nuts, and they all drive _me_ nuts, too. Natalia’s not so bad in general, but she’s so bossy on missions. Vision’s well-meaning, but he kinda gives me the creeps. Same with Wanda. Dr Banner’s a good guy; quiet, and he doesn’t bother me a bit. I like him.”

Darcy was choking on peals of laughter by the time he finished his short analysis of the Avengers. She wanted to make a poster of it and hang it on her bedroom wall.

“What about Thor?” she cried, indignantly. How could he forget her alien bestie?

Bucky shrugged. “I honestly haven’t worked with him as much. Sparred with him once. Near broke my spine clean in half, by accident. He seems alright, but he says the weirdest things, and he’s very…loud. He talks about coffee a lot more than’s normal, I think.”

Actual tears were streaming down her face at that point.

“Thor’s awesome, I promise. But it does take a while to get used to him, and his speech patterns. He’s a fan of you, y’know.”

Bucky’s eyebrows shot up. “Really?”

“Yup. He called you a ‘fierce warrior’. That’s like the Holy Grail of compliments where he’s from.”

Bucky looked so shyly pleased with himself that she wanted to take a photo of him so that she’d be able to coo over his expression forever.

“Ok, Mister Warrior. Your turn.”

“It’s Sergeant Warrior, actually,” he returned immediately, the banter suddenly coming more easily to him. “Alright…Where did you grow up?”

“On a farm in a little town in northern Virginia. Not the most exciting place on Earth, but it’s pretty quaint and the countryside is seriously beautiful. You’d love it, what with green being your favourite colour and all,” she couldn’t resist teasing him. To her delight, the tips of his ears pinked.

“So you’re farming folk?” Bucky immediately shot back, _teasing_ her!

“Well my Dad was a farmer, like his dad, and _his_ dad, going back about two hundred years. Mom’s a New Yorker, born and bred.”

Bucky bit his lip, but instead of watching his lovely lips with longing as she normally would, Darcy tensed up because she recognised the look on his face and knew exactly what he was going to ask.

“Was?”

“Yeah. He died when I was fifteen. Cancer,” Darcy explained, trying to conceal the heartbreak in her voice. It had been over ten years, but his loss still hurt as much as it had the day he passed.

She glanced up at Bucky through her eyelashes and felt her chest constrict even more at the look of pure compassion and sympathy on his face.

Of course, he knew what it was like to lose parents.

“I shouldn’t have asked,” he said, by way of apology.

“No, really it’s alright. I’m usually fine talking about him, but some days it’s just harder than others, y’know?” She replied, brushing at her watery eyes.

Bucky stared at her so intensely she suspected he was having a good look into her soul.

“I do.”

And just like that, she felt like maybe all wasn’t lost, because she and Bucky had just shared some sort of emotional connection that wasn’t part of their soul-bond, but just a part of them as individuals. It felt really… _nice._

Darcy shot him a small smile, which he immediately returned.

“Ok, onto less emotional topics, I think,” she chirped, trying to quell the sorrowful vibe they had going on. She suspected that the last thing Bucky needed in his life was more misery. “What is…your favourite book?”

Bucky immediately frowned, as if he was struggling to think of an answer. Damn, playing this game with an amnesiac was _hard_.

“Ok, forget that one. What’s the last book you read?”

Bucky noticeably perked up at that, before blushing faintly. Darcy’s interest was immediately piqued, although she couldn’t imagine what her reaction would be if he said something like _Fifty Shades of Gray._

“I just finished _Harry Potter and the Chamber of Secrets_.”

“And? You love it, don’t you? You’re a total Potterhead already, I can tell,” Darcy teased, grinning as Bucky looked more and more embarrassed.

“Yeah, it was good…”

“But…?”

“Well, it’s for kids, isn’t it?” he said in a rush.

Darcy laughed. “No! I mean, sure, most die-hard fans like myself grew up alongside the books being released, but I honestly think they’re enjoyable for adults, too. Like, I get that the whole fantasy element and teenage-angst courtesy of Harry may make it seem unsuitable for adults, but it’s got a lot of depth as a series, and the characters are so vivid, y’know?” Darcy enthused, now feeling slightly embarrassed herself as she let her inner nerd out to play. Bucky just watched her with an indulgent look in his eye.

“Who’s your favourite character then?” he asked, and she was thrilled that he was actually initiating conversation now.

“Hmm…that’s a toughie! You couldn’t have gone for the easier House question, could you?”

“‘House question?’”

“Yeah, you know. What house would you be in if you went to Hogwarts?”

“Oh. I never thought of that.” He frowned.

“What? How could you not? It’s, like, _integral_ to your reading experience!” she cried.

“Oh. Which House do you belong to?”

Darcy tried to look suitably offended. “Can’t you tell?”

Bucky bit his lip, squinting at her slightly as he considered. “I’m not sure…I guess Slytherin?”

Darcy just stared at him in shock for a few seconds as he struggled to contain his grin. She looked so outraged, and it was one of the cutest things he’d ever seen.

“You’d better be joking, Barnes,” she warned, mock-glaring at him. She looked like an irritated kitten flashing its little needle-teeth.

Bucky just shrugged, the picture of baffled innocence. “No. I thought that was a fair guess. Why? Am I off base?”

There was a flush of red crawling up Darcy’s neck as she reached for a small cushion. Bucky (almost) judged himself for enjoying her ire so much. This was a side of himself he hadn’t been aware of.

“How dare you! I’m clearly a Hufflepuff!”

“I dunno, doll, you seemed pretty cunning and determined to me with that cake business. Reckon you’d make a swell Slytherin,” Bucky replied cheekily, snatching the cushion from her grasp before she could hit him with it.

Darcy’s mouth opened and closed wordlessly in a fine impression of a goldfish.

But when she caught the glint of amusement in his eyes she belatedly realised that he was _totally_ just saying that to get a rise out of her, and she’d completely fallen for it!

In her defence, she hadn’t expected Bucky to be so playful and at ease during their first proper conversation. Maybe it was the soul-bond, making him feel more comfortable? She hadn’t seen him this relaxed around anyone other than Steve.

It made her feel all special and tingly inside.

She swatted lightly at his flesh arm to distract herself, chastising him for making fun of her.

“Yeah, well. I can just tell you’re a big, arrogant Gryffindor,” she sniffed, hiking her glasses up onto the bridge of her nose and snatching another piece of cake.

“Arrogant? I think the defining feature of a Gryffindor is bravery, isn’t it?”

“That’s what you all think. Narcissistic assholes,” she grumbled around a mouthful of cake.

Bucky threw his head back and laughed. Properly _laughed_ , a full on belly laugh that made her blush all over again, because hello world! She had just made Bucky Barnes laugh out loud, and it was the best sound ever.

Those dimples should be _illegal._

“Okay, before this descends into some serious House rivalry. Who’s _your_ favourite character?” Darcy asked, trying to get herself under control before she did something highly inappropriate like licking his Adam’s Apple.

“So far? Ron, I suppose. He’s funny.”

“Yeah, Ron’s a good’un.”

“Who’s your favourite?” Bucky dutifully asked.

“Definitely Hermione, I identified with her a lot when I was growing up. I was a total geek, too…although, I love Fred and George as well, they’re so mischievous. They remind me of my brothers.”

“You have brothers?”

“Yep, Damon and Dylan. They’re twins. Eighteen now, but I reckon they have the maturity of your average nine-year-old.”

Bucky frowned, the corners of his lips suddenly turning down. “I had sisters…” he said, so softly that she could barely hear it.  “Three of them. They were all younger than me, I think.”

Darcy wasn’t entirely sure what to say, given the drastic turnabout in his mood. “Aw, I’m sure you were an awesome big brother,” she soothed.

Bucky just tried to shrug it off.

“It’s okay, we don’t have to talk about that stuff if you don’t want to.”

“Thanks,” Bucky said, shooting her a relieved smile.

“No problemo,” Darcy assured, cool as the proverbial cucumber. "Okay, your turn.”

Bucky took a minute to consider his next line of questioning. He knew exactly what he wanted to ask.

“Did I…did I really ‘make out’ with your great-aunt?” he asked, the modern phrase feeling strange on his tongue.

Darcy couldn’t hold back her cackle of laughter. “Yep, I saw photographic evidence that you two were friendly, and my gran said you were totally sweet on each other!”

“What was her name?”

“Camilla Russo. She would’ve been a few years younger than you, I think. My grandpa was Calogero Russo, and you would’ve known my gran as Lily van Vleicks.”

“She had really blonde hair. Like silver,” Bucky blurted out, looking surprised at his own memory.

Darcy nodded encouragingly. “Yeah, my gran did. Aunt Camilla was your typical dark-haired, dark-eyed Sicilian. She was a total babe.”

“I…I don’t remember her,” Bucky sighed, looking defeated all over again.

Darcy took a leap. “I have a few pictures of the two of you in my room, if you want to see them?” she suggested.

Bucky raked his right hand through his hair and looked at a spot on the floor. “I’m not…not sure that’s such a good idea, sometimes old memories popping up…just makes me worse. Maybe some other time,” he said, with a wan smile.

“Sure, whenever you like,” she replied easily. “By the way, sorry that you had to walk around with that on your skin. They’re pretty lousy, as soul-marks go.”

Bucky looked at her and smiled. “I was never exactly sure what they meant, but I had a good idea. Certainly gave my friends a good laugh, imagining me kissing some old lady.”

“Yeah, old people. _Ugh_ ,” Darcy teased, taking a long sip of coffee to hide her smile. Bucky gave her excellent side-eye.

“The youth of today. No respect for their elders,” he sighed, nabbing the last piece of cake and popping it in his mouth before Darcy could even protest.

“Hey! Thief!”

Bucky shrugged. “It was mine. You gave me the whole cake. I was just nice enough to share some with you. You’re welcome, by the way.”

“Ugh, I should’ve known you’d be a total troll. Steve’s the exact same!”

Bucky quirked a brow. “A troll? Like under a bridge?”

Darcy laughed so hard she nearly peed herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I know, I know, the _Harry Potter_ thing has been done to death in fanfic but I couldn't resist. Their convo was mostly borne from a gif/image I saw on Tumblr a few years ago that sorted the MCU characters into Hogwarts Houses, and **Bucky was in Slytherin!** I don't object to this because I dislike Slytherin (personally I'd probably be somewhere between Ravenclaw and Slytherin), but just, ugh. Bucky is 100% Gryffindor. 
> 
> Whew, sorry. Rant over.
> 
>  
> 
> Guys, we're already at the half-way mark! How did that happen?! This was a fluffy chapter, but fear not, there's plenty of angst on the horizon ;)
> 
> Thanks as ever for the comments, kudos etc. they make me smile like a loon <3


	6. My Kind of Love

_'You won't see me at the parties, I guess I'm just no fun_  
_I won't be turning up the radio singing, "Baby You're The One"_  
_But don't ever question if my heart beats only for you,_ _it beats only for you'_

Emeli Sandé- "My Kind of Love"

* * *

 

“So, you and Darcy?” Steve prodded as they pounded the pavement on a sleepy Tuesday morning.

Wilson, thank god, was about three hundred yards behind them, so chances of him overhearing were minimal.

Bucky’s chances of outrunning Steve were also minimal, unfortunately.

“What about it?” he grunted, hesitant to talk about the delicate relationship that had blossomed between him and Darcy in recent weeks.

The tension that had marked their first run ins with one another was completely gone, replaced with a unusual level of comfort between the two of them.

The change was most easily marked in Bucky, of course. Prior to meeting Darcy, he had veritably lived up to his secret nickname of ‘Hermit.’ Outside missions and the odd sparring match, he had scarcely ventured beyond the apartment he shared with Steve. His communication with the other Avengers was limited to nods, glares, and one-word answers.

Now, it was practically guaranteed that you’d see him in the common room at some point of the day, usually side by side with Darcy. In the afternoons, they’d generally sit together, reading and drinking coffee like an old married couple. Not that _any_ of the team were stupid enough to say _that_ where Bucky could hear it. Not even Stark or Barton. His reputation as the (former) Winter Soldier did have _some_ advantages, after all.

Bucky was still wading his way through the  _Harry Potter_  series (“Oh my god, Bucky! You’re like the slowest reader ever! How are you not finished yet?!”), but Darcy had already compiled an enormous list of literature he absolutely _had_ to read A.S.A.P. He was enjoying the  _Potter_ series too much to rush onto something else, but Darcy’s impatience was starting to come with the threat of ‘spoilers’, which, he understood, were very high on every Millenial’s concept of Pure Evil.

“Are you two…?” Steve got that expression on his face that was half gleeful little shithead, half butter-wouldn’t-melt concerned best friend.

“What, Rogers?”

Steve just huffed out a laugh at his taciturn response.

“Are you goin’ steady?”

Bucky snorted. “ _Goin’ steady?_ Punk, it ain't 1940 anymore. No one ‘goes steady’.”

Of course, if it had’ve been 1940, he and Darcy would probably be on the way to engaged by now. Soul-bonded couples rarely wasted time in making it official back in the day, but this was just another way that the twenty-first century had its own set of rules.

“You know what I mean, smartass. Are you dating each other?”

Bucky wasn’t entirely sure of the answer to that, but he’d be damned if he let Steve know it. “No.”

“Does she know how crazy you are over her?” There was that shit-eating grin again.

“You’re taller now, punk, but I’ll still knock your teeth out,” he warned, turning down Fifth Avenue and picking up speed.

Wilson yelled something in the distance.

“You used to talk to me about girls all the time. Couldn’t get ya to shut up,” Steve teased, easily keeping pace.

“Darcy’s not just some girl,” he snapped, more harshly than he’d intended.

Steve placed a hand on his shoulder, slowing them both to a light jog.

“Hey, I know, she’s special. It’s a completely different scenario. Just…make sure you’re both on the same page.”

Bucky rolled his eyes.

“We’re friends. We spend time together. It’s nice. That’s all.”

“Ok, pal. Just tryin’ to help you out.”

Steve Rogers giving _him_ advice on dames.

What had the world come to?

* * *

 

“Well? Well?” Darcy chirped the instant he shut _The Half-Blood Prince._ That one had taken him even longer than the fifth book. There sure was a lot going on, and he didn’t want to miss any of the little clues and pieces of foreshadowing that Darcy had hinted at.

“I guess it made sense to kill off Dumbledore, but I liked him,” he reflected with a sigh. As he progressed through the books he had come to realise that his earlier assessment of the series as ‘for children’ was wildly off the mark. There was some pretty heavy stuff happening at Hogwarts.

Darcy shut her own book ( _1984_ \- the year Natalya was born, if he remembered correctly) and scooted closer to him. It was late in the afternoon, and they were perched on ‘their’ sofa, the one with the great view over Broadway. These short interludes, when Darcy could steal thirty minutes from her workday, were the highlights of Bucky’s days. They got him through his daily cycle of nightmares, running, sparring, therapy, and flashbacks. There was no balm to his weary mind like Darcy.

“I know, it’s a totally pivotal moment for Harry and the gang, ‘cuz now they kind of feel like they’re in it alone. Beating Voldemort is totally on them,” she mused, leaning slightly against his arm. She had taken to doing this on many occasions, pressing up against him like a cat. Although touching was generally still an issue for Bucky, he enjoyed the warm comfort of Darcy’s closeness far more than he’d ever admit out loud. He knew it wasn’t anything special- Darcy was just a touchy-feely type of person. She was constantly dishing out hugs, fist bumps, and even hair-braiding to the Avengers.

She had offered to put a little braid in Bucky’s overgrown hair on one occasion, but the very prospect of that much physical human contact was simply too much for him. It was a sober reminder that, in spite of the progress he had made in recent weeks, he was still a long way off being healthy of mind.

In all honesty, he wasn’t sure he’d ever be completely right in the head again.

Fuckin’ Hydra.

“Hell of a responsibility for a bunch o’kids,” he murmured, “And that Snape…knew he was bad news, but never thought he’d go that far.”

Darcy shifted against him. “Don’t write him off just yet,” she said coyly.

“Huh?”

“Oh my god, Barnes! Just hurry up and read the last book so we can talk about _everything_!” She cried, hopping up excitedly and scurrying from the room.

Bucky watched her leave with a dash of hurt confusion, until she returned less than three minutes later with another enormous tome clutched to her chest.

“Here!” she handed the book to him.

“ _Harry Potter and the Deathly Hallows._ I thought it was ‘horcruxes’?” he said, turning the book in his hands.

“They’re two different things, Bucko. Which you’ll know _when you read the book!”_ Darcy teased, grinning in the face of his glower. She leant over the coffee table to pick up her phone. “Ugh, I have to go back to the office, sorry Sarge,” she blew him a playful kiss as she left, and Bucky wondered for the thousandth time if they would ever cross from friends to something more.

No. God, no.

It was bad enough that he was infringing on Darcy’s life like this, but to drag her completely into the shit-storm that was his everyday existence? No way. Thinking like that was just greedy- wishing he could have something more than what he did. Darcy already gave him her friendship, her kindness, her company- it was far more than he deserved, but he didn’t have the strength or bravery to try and push her away completely. She had become the centre of his small universe, and he was helpless to change it.

Friendship would have to be enough.

* * *

 

Darcy knew that it was probably due to some sort of influence from the damn soul-bond, but the truth was she wasn’t sure she’d ever liked a person as much as she liked Bucky Barnes.

He was sweet, attentive, and inadvertently funny. His half-bewildered half-snarky comments about the _Twilight_ film series had left her in stitches for _days_.

Without any sort of prior agreement or acknowledgement, they had begun meeting in the common room every day at around 4pm to chitchat and read together. Darcy knew that it was tooth-achingly sweet (Barton and Stark gave her nothing but grief about it every time they saw her), but she honestly didn’t care how it looked to anyone else. It was the best part of her day, hands down.

Sure, in an ideal world she and Bucky would be able to expand upon their blooming friendship in a variety of venues- the cinema, an amusement park, even a mall, or a coffee shop- but she wasn’t sure that Bucky was quite ready to venture out into the world as a ‘civilian’.

All things considered, she wondered how on earth he managed to go on ops with the Avengers. Not that she’d ever been on a mission with the team, obviously, but she couldn’t imagine that it was a trigger-free environment. That being said, with Bucky’s history as Hydra’s puppet, she supposed that he maybe had some method of blocking emotions while on a mission.

Still, she was grateful that he hadn’t been needed on any ops for a few weeks. She wasn’t too big to admit that she’d really miss him if he was away on duty.

“Hey, you free on Sunday?” she asked suddenly, enjoying their peaceful reading time on a Thursday afternoon. She was reading a biography of the Romanov clan, and Bucky had moved onto _The Lord of the Rings._

Bucky’s blue-grey eyes darted towards her immediately, one brow slightly raised.

“Free for what?”

“Well, that sort-of _Harry Potter_ movie, _Fantastic Beasts and Where to Find Them_ has been out for a couple of weeks, now. Might be prime time to go and see it, if you want to catch it on the big screen,” she suggested, trying to sounds super casual but probably just landing on anxious. The last thing she wanted to do was push Bucky into a situation he wasn’t comfortable with, but she also thought that a little R &R outside the Tower might be nice for him.

A slow smirk slid onto Bucky’s lips. “You askin’ me out, Darce?” he asked, slyly.

She knew that he was just messing with her, but dammit if she didn’t blush anyway.

“Well, it doesn’t have to be just the two of us. I know Bruce really loves Harry Potter, although I’m not sure he’d have time to spare at the moment…” Darcy mused, chewing on her ruby lips.

“Doll, I was just windin’ you up. I’d love to go. Haven’t been to the pictures in…well, a long time,” he said, smiling to show her that it was alright. He reckoned he could handle a night at the cinema with his best girl.

Friend.

Best female friend. Yeah, that was it.

Wow, he was in trouble.

* * *

 

Darcy wasn’t exactly a master at reading body language, but she could tell that Bucky was tense as they waited in line at the movie theatre. In spite of his jitters, the chivalrous old coot had stalwartly insisted on buying their tickets until she was blue in the face.

And he called _Steve_ the stubborn one.

“Going to get us the senior discount, Sarge?” she teased, speaking quietly so that no one nearby could hear. Bucky had his bionic arm covered in a fetching navy peacoat and leather gloves. With his hair pulled into a scruffy man bun to complement the scruff on his face, he could pass as your ordinary New York hipster.

But a really, really hot hipster.

Bucky gave her a haughty glare from the corner of his eye. He had clearly been scoping out exits and sightlines since they stepped in the door, but now his attention slowly leeched back towards her.

“As if I’d be sharin’ my discount with the likes of you. No respect for your elders, and now you wanna use our discount?” he countered, shaking his head with mock disappointment and producing a small wallet from his back pocket as they approached the counter.

“Two adults for ‘Fantastic Beasts’, please,” Darcy chirped, smiling at Bucky’s horrified expression as the girl rang up their purchase. She suspected she’d be treated to a rant on inflation that very night.

After Bucky had (reluctantly) handed over the money for their tickets, Darcy bustled over to the concession stand to rattle off her usual order. “Medium sweet and salted popcorn, M&Ms, and a large red slushie, please. James, what do you want?” she asked, reaching for Bucky’s arm. He was staring at the colourful signs and acres of confectionary in bewilderment, so Darcy decided to take the wheel.

“Okay, could you actually make that popcorn large, and throw in a Diet Coke and a water. Oh, and some blue Doritos, too. Thanks, dude.”

Bucky grimaced lightly as she pulled her purse from her absolutely packed handbag. She wasn’t sure if he was disgruntled at letting the ‘dame’ pay for something, or if it was because she handed over $25 and didn’t get any change.

As they wandered to their screen, Bucky’s arms laden down with their treats, Darcy slurped away at her slushie. She had brain freeze in about three seconds.

“What’s wrong? What is that stuff?” Bucky asked, watching with apprehension as she winced and screwed up her face. The half-frozen ‘drink’ was an absolutely alarming shade of red. He couldn’t fathom why Darcy would order something that made her so uncomfortable.

Darcy laughed and waved him off. “Just brain fr- um. Sore head, the ice, y’know…” she trailed off lamely, leading him into the screen. “Okay, you pick the seats. I’m easy,” she said, smiling a slightly red-tinged smile at him.

Darcy always preferred to sit dead centre, or as close as possible, but she knew that Bucky wouldn’t be comfortable hemmed in by so many chairs and people. Sure enough, he chose an aisle seat a few meters from the fire escape door, selecting the outer-most seat for himself and herding her into position on his right.

Tugging off her bulky coat, Darcy snorted with laughter as Bucky shoved a huge handful of popcorn into his mouth, his brows twitching as he tasted the sweetness and salt together.

“You like?” she asked with a smile, her hand bumping his as she scooped out some popcorn for herself and proceeded to try (and fail) at throwing them in the air and catching them on her tongue.

She saw Bucky smile indulgently at her as the lights dimmed, and she couldn’t help grinning right back like a total loser.

“Yeah. I do like,” he said softly.

* * *

 

“I love Eddie Redmayne! He’s like my favourite ginger. Wait, apart from Rupert Grint. Oooh, and Ed Sheeran, too, he’s a cutie,” Darcy babbled, swinging slightly on Bucky’s (real) arm as they walked down the quiet street. She launched into a song about castles and hills, and Bucky knew that to a practiced eye, his emotions were written all over his face as he watched her act the fool.

Thankfully, Darcy didn’t seem to have a practiced eye, and when she caught his no-doubt soupy expression, she simply laughed and began to skip along the pavement faster, forcing him to lengthen his strides.

It had been the best date he could remember. Not that that was a wonderful qualifier, to be sure. Memories of past dates had slowly wormed their way back into his consciousness, but all he could remember was curled hair of varying shades, twirling skirts and dance halls. Each one bled into another, practically performed as a formula. But _this_ , with Darcy, was anything but formulaic.

Oh sure, he knew going to the pictures was still a standard date activity, but Darcy’s hilarious commentary, and gleeful fits of laughter, had been even more entertaining than the movie.

Not everyone agreed with that. Halfway through the film, his phone had quietly beeped with a message from Barton – part of his security detail for the night- warning that Natalia was dangerously close to knocking Darcy out with a well-thrown M&M. Bucky had promised a rampage if any candy so much as landed in a five foot radius around his girl.

“ _The Dancing Alpaca_. Who thinks of these names?” Darcy suddenly cried, pointing exuberantly at a bar across the street. It looked like the type of bar Darcy claimed to hate, but Bucky suspected she secretly loved: slightly worn down with a definitive ‘hipster’ vibe.

Bucky agreed. “Do alpacas even dance?”

Darcy stopped skipping and literally bent double with giggles.

“What?” Bucky asked, indignant. It was a legitimate question. He wasn’t even 100% sure what an ‘alpaca’ was.

“Oh my god, Bucky. We’re totally Googling that when we get home. I bet there’s a video of an alpaca dancing out there somewhere.”

Maybe it was the effect of her laughter, or the way she had said ‘when we get home’ that made him bold.

“D’you want to go in for a nightcap?” he asked, nodding his head towards the bar.

Darcy’s eyes widened as she looked between him and the packed bar. Usually that kind of setting was a huge no for him, but he didn’t want to cut their date short, and he could tell how much Darcy wanted to go in and have a pint.

“Are you sure?”

“Yep. C’mon, doll. I’ll buy you a beer,” he grinned, tugging her across the street.

Darcy giggled. “Fair warning, Sarge. It’ll probably cost you about $10.”

It turned out $10 was on the conservative side, but when they were both tucked into a little booth together (him with clear sightlines to the exits), Bucky decided he would’ve paid $100 just to do something so pleasantly…normal.

It was unseasonably warm in the tight press of fellow patrons, most of whom seemed to have an aversion to sitting down. Darcy peeled off her ruby coat and matching scarf with a little huff, tucking them onto the bench behind her and rolling up her sleeves as she chirped happily about ‘Fantastic Beasts’.

Without conscious thought, Bucky glanced down at her wrists, his gaze riveted by the dark words written horizontally on her inner wrist, like a peculiar half-bracelet. He couldn’t recall if he’d ever written anything in Russian, but somehow he still recognised his own writing etched in her skin.

It was something they never discussed; the soul-bond loomed silently over their shoulders, but they had both made an exceedingly good effort in ignoring it. For his part, their bond was both incredible and terrifying in equal measure. He felt the cocktail of those two emotions spike in his bloodstream as he stared unabashedly at her Mark.

As much as he adored Darcy, as much as he _knew_ deep in his confused bones that she was _exactly_ the kind of woman he had always dreamed of, the fact that he had a soulmate at all was difficult to process most of the time. When Hydra had given him his bionic arm, the metalwork had extended far down his left side, warping and covering the majority of his soul-mark. In the early days, before they had fully harnessed the chair’s potential for ‘wiping’ him, he had questioned the few black letters that remained visible.

They had said that it was just an ordinary tattoo. He didn’t have a soul-mark. Only humans had soul-marks.

Somewhere along the way, during seventy-plus years of hearing it, the Asset had come to believe it.

During the early days of his recovery, he had traced the errant letters obsessively, before finally managing to ask Steve what his ‘tattoo’ had originally said. It seemed like an important thing to know about this ‘Bucky Barnes’ fellow.

It was the first time he had seen Steve cry. That he could remember, anyway.

Even after slowly adapting to the idea of having a genuine soul-mark, Bucky had struggled to believe that Hydra hadn't taken care of the ‘loose end’ that was his soulmate so as to solidify their argument that he was less than human.

But he was human. And he did have a soulmate. Sometimes he felt guilty for how…happy that thought made him, and he welcomed the guilt, because he knew he didn’t deserve happiness after everything he’d done.

He glanced at Darcy’s content expression as she tapped her foot to the beat of the peculiar music playing. He may not deserve happiness, but Darcy certainly did. Maybe more than anyone he’d ever met, and he couldn’t fathom why the universe was punishing _her_ by giving her such a poor excuse for a soulmate, but he’d made his decision weeks before, and he was going to try his best to make her happy.

“So, did you enjoy the movie?” Darcy asked with a smile, sipping at her large tankard of beer. Bucky was surprised that seeing a lady drink something so unrefined in public amused him. Obviously the women of his youth hadn’t been in the habit of necking unwieldy pints of beer.

Bucky shook his head, fetching his mind back from the past. His thoughts were everywhere tonight. The bar was loud and people were passing uncomfortably close to where they sat, but Darcy didn’t bat an eyelid and he tried not to as well.

“Yeah. It was funny. Nice to see New York like that, too. It felt…kinda familiar,” he mused, trying a taste of his own beer. It was sweet and tart, but fairly drinkable.

Darcy snorted. “It should do, Gramps. It’s set in 1926, I think. You were what, like forty by then?” she smirked deviously.

Bucky shot her a quelling look. “My, my sweetheart. Not too good at math, are we? In 1926 I was nine.  Just a little kid.”

Darcy’s indignant expression slid into one of tenderness. “Had you met Steve, by then?”

“Hmmm…let’s see. Met the punk when Ella was in kindergarten. So I would’ve been around eight, I guess. Steve’d be able to tell you better,” he said with a shrug, tapping his temple with a gloved finger.

Darcy smiled. “I like hearing it from you, though. No offence to Steve, but he’s not the one I’m interested in.” A blush flared on her exposed throat. “Interested in knowing better,” she added quickly, taking a big gulp of beer to hide her blunder and accidentally choking herself.

“Are you alright?” Bucky leant across the table towards her, clearly ready to spring into action. She gripped his proffered hand and nodded as she continued to cough.

“Woooh. Sorry. Just went down the wrong way,” she said with a faint laugh, wiping at her watering eyes.

“Sure?” Bucky asked, his hand still gripping hers tightly.

“Yep. No need to give me the Heimlich,” she assured him.

“I’ll get you a water, okay? Just in case,” Bucky said, reluctantly releasing her warm little hand. She smiled sweetly at him as he left the booth, elbowing his way through the packed crowd towards the bar. God, but this place was a trigger nightmare.

Just as he had the distinct feeling that he’d made a mistake in suggesting they come to the bar, the crowd surged suddenly towards him, buffeting him into the wooden counter with surprising force. A loud crash of shattered glass rang through the chatter, and everyone suddenly cheered at the top of their lungs, clapping wildly at who ever had been unfortunate enough to drop the glass.

Bucky didn’t hear the laughter, or the amused tone of the cheers, he just felt the close press of bodies trapping him against the counter, felt the thrum of the bass echo along with the blood pounding in his ears. His vision crackled, turning black and white at the edges as his breath caught in his lungs. His last coherent thought was that this was a shitty time to be having a flashback.

* * *

 

Darcy watched contentedly as Bucky used those deliciously broad shoulders of his to manoeuvre towards the bar. _My hero_ , she thought dreamily, not even bothering to chastise herself for perving on him. She could have the odd lapse, it was fine. Wishing that he _had_ needed to give her the Heimlich was probably not so fine, but sure, there was no harm in thinking about his big arms wrapped around her.

She heard a few disgruntled cries from the bar area, and noted that it was turning into a teensy moshpit. Good thing Bucky was so solid; there was no chance of anyone knocking _him_ over.

Some poor soul dropped their glass amidst the press, and, in time-honoured fashion, everyone cheered. Even Darcy, who held onto her beer a little tighter and took an appreciative swig.

“Lewis, we’re going.”

Darcy spluttered again, beer going everywhere. She glanced to her left and saw a grim-faced Barton staring down at her, hand outstretched.

“What the hell?”

“Now, Lewis. Get your shit together,” he replied tersely, pointing at her scarf and coat. She hastily bundled them on, plucking Bucky’s scarf from where he had draped it over his chair.

“Where’s Bucky?” she hissed at Barton as he quickly navigated her out of the bar.

Had something happened? She hadn’t seen anything other than the slight kerfuffle at the bar.

They crossed the street, approaching two figures- one standing, one sitting against the nearest building.

Natasha Romanov stood a few feet away from Bucky, watching him with a carefully neutral expression.

“Bucky, are you okay?” Darcy asked, even though she knew the answer. Bucky was curled up into a ball, his hands knotted in his hair. She couldn’t see his face.

Natasha tried to stop her as she approached him, but Darcy shot her a warning glare and kept going. In her right mind, she’d know how stupid it was to ignore Natasha, let alone vaguely threaten her, but all she could think of was that her soulmate was clearly hurting.

“Hey, Bucky. It’s me, Darcy. You’re okay. You’re safe. We’re just sitting on 48th Street. No-one’s around. You’re safe,” she whispered as she lowered herself to her knees next to him.

Bucky gave a baleful little moan and her heart constricted.

Fuck. She had no idea what to do.

She looked back at Barton and Natasha, but they were both scoping out the area. She didn’t need to be told that this would be a prime opportunity for Hydra to try and reclaim their ‘Asset.’

Darcy felt a huge rush of anger and protectiveness. Those fuckers were never getting their hands on Bucky again. Not so long as she still had breath in her body.

Determination renewed, she edged closer to Bucky.

“Bucky? Hey, sweetie? Will you look at me? I’m worried about you,” she said softly, desperate to place a comforting hand on his knee but knowing that it would probably just make him worse.

She didn’t think he had even heard her until he lowered his arms slightly, lifting his head so that he could peer at her over his raised knees.

Darcy smiled encouragingly. “Hey you. You’re safe, everything’s okay. You just need to relax a bit, okay? Your adrenaline’ s probably through the roof.” Bucky watched her, unblinking. She could hear the frantic rasp of his breath in the quiet of the street.

“Will you try something for me? See if we can get that breathing under control? You’ll feel a lot better, I promise. Just copy me, okay? Really deep breath in for like four seconds, then let it out slowly for another four seconds. Okay? Will you try that?” she asked, shuffling a little closer to him as she exaggerated her own breathing, willing him to copy.

At first, she didn’t notice any difference, but gradually Bucky got his breathing under control until they were perfectly in sync.

“There. Do you feel a bit better, now?”

His eyes seemed to have settled down from that wild, frantic look they’d had before. Darcy felt a wave of relief, and she slowly turned herself so she too was leaning against the building, but still a good distance from Bucky.

She kept up the deep breathing exercise for another few minutes, just staring up at the empty black sky. Barton and Natasha had slipped into shadows, but she suspected they were still nearby in case of another emergency. She hadn’t been aware that they’d been following them all night, but she supposed that it was pretty necessary for Bucky’s wellbeing. She’d have to thank them for their quick thinking later.

“Can I hold your hand?” Darcy asked, stretching her own hand across the distance between them.

It took him a few minutes to decide, and she forced herself not to look at him, but eventually Bucky’s warm fingers brushed against her own, and he let her twine their hands together without protest.

Sitting in the street on a cold winter’s night while helping her soulmate through some sort of panic attack wasn’t exactly how she’d envisioned the evening, but Darcy supposed that it was just part of her reality now that she had a functioning relationship with Bucky.

She was more okay with it than she had expected to be. Bucky’s friendship was worth a few bumps in the road.

When Bucky’s grip suddenly slackened on her hand, she knew that was a signal that he was coming back to himself.

“Bucky? Hey, y’alright?” she whispered, turning slightly towards him.

He glanced over at her, shame shining in his eyes.

“Sorry,” he croaked, voice noticeably hoarse.

Darcy tutted at him. “Sorry for what?”

“For this…” he gestured to himself with his free hand. “For thinkin’ I could do this.”

“Do what?”

Bucky shrugged and looked away. “Be normal,” he murmured, defeated.

Darcy’s heart clenched, but before she could think of something reassuring to say, a fancy town car pulled up at the curb just as Barton and Natasha appeared from thin air (well, it looked that way to _her_ ). The passenger window rolled down to reveal Tony’s driver, who nodded at them all with polite disinterest.

“Ready to head back?” Natasha inquired, cool as ever.

Darcy glanced at Bucky in time to see him grit his teeth and nod. He slowly got to his feet, carefully pulling her upright with him.

He let go of her hand immediately, though.

The drive back to Stark Tower felt far longer than it should have, thanks to the palpable tension in the car. Natasha seemed perfectly calm in the front passenger seat, while Clint happily played Angry Birds II on his phone.

Darcy desperately wanted to say something to Bucky, who was hunched over in the seat next to her, his hair a dark curtain between them as he stared down at his hands.

He was giving off major “don’t talk to me” vibes, and the last thing she wanted was to embarrass him in front of their current company, so she decided it could wait until they were back at the Tower.

But if Bucky thought he was going to play the “I’m too damaged/dangerous for you, so we can’t spend time together” card, he was going to be in for a rude surprise.

Sure enough, when they were back at the Tower, Bucky attempted to slink off to his room in private. Darcy maybe should have let him walk away and lick his wounds, but she worried that if she didn’t address the issue right away, it would ultimately fester and damage their bond.

“Not going to walk me to my door, Sarge?” she teased, following him off the elevator at his and Steve’s floor.

Bucky didn’t respond to her joke, but made a beeline for the living quarters. Darcy sighed.

It was going to have to be the hard road, then.

Moving faster than even she was aware she could, Darcy overtook Bucky and positioned herself at the door to their apartment. He stopped dead in front of her with a dark glare.

Darcy crossed her arms and tilted up her chin. “You’re really not going to let me in?”

Bucky glanced at the door behind her for a second, before clearly realising that she was referring to something more abstract. The tense anger in his eyes melted away, his shoulders slumping as he ran a hand through his tousled hair.

“I…I don’t know what to say,” he admitted, voice small.

Darcy immediately took pity on him. “That’s okay,” she assured him, “Can I at least come in and make you some tea? You don’t have to tell me what happened if you don’t want to. We can talk about something else.”

Bucky nodded slowly, still staring determinedly towards the ground.

Darcy didn’t think he was going to try and sneak in past her, so she stepped aside as Bucky let the biometric scanner analyse him before the door clicked open.

She hadn’t been in the apartment too often before, but she was familiar enough with the layout of the kitchen to prep two mugs of good old English breakfast tea. Bucky loitered by the enormous kitchen island, looking unsure of what to do with himself. He still had his coat on. As a matter of fact, so did Darcy.

“Hey, would you mind hanging these up for me?” she asked sweetly, peeling off her coat and scarf and tossing them towards him. With anyone else, they would have ended up a heap on the wooden floor, but Bucky caught them without even a blink. He disappeared into his and Steve's coat closet, and when he returned, he'd ditched his coat, which she counted as a win.

"Couch?" she asked, putting the finishing touches on their tea before following him into the spacious living area.

Darcy settled on the couch, looking at Bucky expectantly until he joined her, sitting at the far end and pressing his bionic arm into the armrest in that uncomfortable way he had always done at the start of their friendship. Whatever happened tonight had seriously messed with him.

She gently handed Bucky his tea (black with honey), appreciative of the small brush of their fingers together as the mug transferred. She took a few seconds to savour her own cuppa, as she pondered which topic of conversation she should introduce. Although she had promised Bucky that they didn’t have to discuss the night’s events, it was honestly all she could think about.

“It was the bar,” Bucky’s cracked voice filled the silence, and Darcy glanced at him in surprise. She had no intention of interrupting, though.

Bucky’s hands –metal and flesh- gripped the mug tightly, as if trying to disguise the slight tremors that were running through them.

“All of those people, pressed together. The noise…the _heat._ It…it reminded me of Azzano,” he uttered, quietly, his stare a thousand yards away.

Darcy bit her lip. She knew enough of Bucky’s history to know exactly what Azzano meant.

Imprisonment.

Starvation.

Torture.

“The…cells they kept us in. We were packed like…like sardines. Could barely move. So loud, all the time. Guys…cryin’ and shoutin’ all hours. And then one day, they came for me. I thought that was it,” Bucky trailed off, staring morosely into his tea.

“And the bar reminded you of that? It triggered a flashback?” Darcy asked, voice soft. Bucky’s jaw clenched.

“Yeah. It was…too much. I can’t-” Bucky sighed. “It’s frustrating that I can’t handle situations like that. My head just went off on one,” he explained gesturing to said head.

Darcy felt a faint sting in her eyes. “I shouldn’t have suggested we leave the Tower. It was a stupid idea,” she said, setting her mug on the coffee table and slumping back on the couch.

Bucky turned to her, eyes wide. “Darce, there was nothin’ stupid about it. I loved bein’ out of this place, gettin’ to see a bit of the City with you. Problem’s me-”

Darcy shook her head violently. Bucky sighed and set down his tea.

“It is, doll. There’s no denyin’ that. A normal guy wouldn’t have a problem going to a busy bar. But I just can’t do that. Not yet.  Maybe not ever,” he shrugged.

Darcy’s glassy green eyes fixed on him. “It doesn’t matter to me where we spend time together, Bucky,” she said, and he felt his heart swell. He reached out slowly, and tenderly brushed away her tears with his thumb.

“Thanks, Darce. I feel the same,” he admitted, managing a faint smile.

Darcy stared at him for a moment, as if she was on the cusp of saying or doing something important. Instead, she simply shook her head and smiled.

“Wanna watch TV for a bit? I think _Brooklyn Nine Nine_ should be on.”

Bucky reached for the spare blanket hanging over the back of the couch and passed it to Darcy.

“Sure, Darce. I’d love to.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Poor Bucky, I just want to snuggle him even though I'm the mean writer who just put him through that angst!
> 
> A small note on geography: I've never been to New York so any destinations are just picked at random. I also have no idea what concession stands in US cinemas are like, but here in the UK it's practically criminal so I just copied it across.
> 
> Thank you so much for the comments, kudos and bookmarks! I'm having such fun sharing this with you all :) until next week x
> 
> P.s. I did the final edit/check on this on my phone while waiting for a delayed flight, so apologies if there are any errors :)


	7. Jealous

_'I'm jealous of the rain_

_That falls upon your skin_

_It's closer than my hands have been_

_Oh I'm jealous of the rain'_

 

Labrinth- 'Jealous'

* * *

A glance at her _Beauty and the Beast_ calendar told Darcy that today marked three months since her fateful first encounter with Bucky, and she had made chocolate-chunk cookies (Bucky’s favourite) to celebrate.

And really, it _was_ a celebration, because three months ago she had flipped out and gone on a tequila binge, convinced that her soul-bond could only herald misery, yet here she was, hanging out with her best friend and soulmate on a daily basis.

Things were so good.

Not perfect, but pretty great.

There were some topics they rarely spoke about: mostly, their soul-bond, or anything in regards to Bucky’s time with Hydra or his ongoing recovery. Darcy was fine with these moratoriums. Frankly, even the idea of discussing their bond made her a big ball of anxious, and considering all that she knew about what Hydra had done to her soulmate, she wasn’t sure she could handle hearing about it regularly from the man himself without wanting to go Hydra goon hunting herself. The brief description of his captivity in 1944- the subject of his flashback on their first trip to the cinema together- had given her a powerful urge to press Bucky’s face into her chest, pet his hair, and snuggle him forever more.

On the rare occasion that Bucky _did_ want to discuss his ongoing recovery with her, Darcy was more than happy to listen, and she never shied away from showing Bucky just how delighted she was to see him thriving.

Besides, Darcy had decided that if this was what Bucky needed her to be, a friend who went to the movies with him every week and discussed literature with him and listened to hours upon hours of music with him without discussing his mental health at every turn, she was totally okay with that. She knew that she’d never supersede Steve in the ‘best friend’ category, but she also knew that Steve’s friendship came with its own struggles for Bucky, namely the often overwhelming need for him to live up to Cap’s notion of his bestie from the olden days.

Darcy’s motto was “Don’t interfere.” She still knew jack-shit about PTSD and brainwashing, in spite of several valiant attempts to read scientific literature about each of the conditions. After giving up for the third time, Darcy had to concede that she’d never be a psychiatrist- hopefully Bucky was okay with her slightly clumsy attempts at helping him on the road to recovery.

It was a concern that prayed on her mind daily, because although Darcy could see how much progress Bucky had made since she’d met him, she knew instinctively that he had a long way to go. They had just recently been able to venture out in public without a security detail (re: Barton or Natasha), so long as their destination wasn’t a crowded place, but she knew that Bucky still went everywhere with at least three knives and a gun. She was able to steal a rare hug from her soulmate at the end of a long, hard day, but that was the most touching they had ever done because human contact was still a pretty grey area for Bucky. Sometimes, he’d go all quiet and reach for her hand, or play with the ends of her hair, or lift her feet into his lap and massage them as they watched TV, but Darcy understood that touching had to be on _his_ terms, and she was fine with that.

The thing was…Darcy was touchy-feely by nature. She _loved_ the intimacy of twining your arm around a friend’s, or grasping someone’s hand at a particularly nerve-wracking part of a film, or a soft good-night kiss that maybe led to a good-morning kiss.

Which was probably why she’d made the stupid, half-cocked decision to agree when one of the lab rats, a totally cute guy named Isaac, had bashfully asked her a week ago if she’d like to have coffee with him ‘sometime’.

It wasn’t even a big deal. Not really. Sure, it had been her first date since detangling herself from Ian _two years ago_. But it wasn’t a big deal. No matter what Jane said. So what if they’d been out twice together in under two weeks? They weren’t in a relationship. It was totally casual.

Darcy was just dipping her toe in the dating pool, so to speak. It wasn’t like there were laws against soul-bonded people dating outside their bond, particularly if the bond was platonic, like hers and Bucky’s.

“So, what’s on the agenda for this week?” Bucky inquired, lazing on the couch as she made them both a late night cup of tea to go with their cookies.

Darcy hoked through her cupboards, looking for Bucky’s mug (yes, he had his own- an awesome _Breaking Bad_ one that changed from black to blue when you poured in a hot drink. He’d smiled so wide when she gave it to him, her heart had ached for days).

“Um, not much. Jane’s going to Vail with Thor for some late-season skiing on Tuesday, so I’ve only got one day of proper work this week- woohoo!”

“Skiing? You didn’t want to go with them?”

Darcy scrunched up her nose, handing Bucky his tea.

“God, no. One: I’m dangerous enough just walking, let alone on skis. And two:  I don’t fancy the idea of being Thor and Jane’s gooseberry on their romantic trip.”

Bucky quirked a brow in her direction. “Gooseberry?”

“Third wheel. Odd one out. Person hanging out with two people who are grossly in love with each other,” she supplied, smirking at Bucky’s amused snort.

“What about you? Anything strange or startling?” she asked, settling right next to him.

“Hmmm, I’d say I’m both, Darce,” he responded, with a self-deprecating smile.

“Yeah. Strange, startling, and snarky, maybe.”

“Not much, same old, same old,” he hedged, reaching for another cookie. He almost missed the mischievous glint in Darcy’s eyes.

Almost.

“What?” he asked, immediately on the defensive.

A smug smile curled the edges of Darcy’s lips. “A little birdy may have mentioned it’s your birthday on Saturday.”

Bucky grimaced. “Steve?” That punk was overdue an ass-kicking.

“No. Wikipedia,” Darcy said, cackling at Bucky’s flat glare.

“It’s not a big deal.” It sounded more like a plea than a command.

Darcy squirmed in her seat, almost sloshing tea everywhere. “Oh my god, Bucko! How can you say that? It’s your last year in double digits! Next year you’ll be a cent- hey! Stop that!” she cried, shaking little hunks of cookie from her hair.

Bucky grinned toothily at her, holding a handful of crumbled cookie aloft threateningly. “What were you saying, doll?” he asked, smug.

“Ugh nothing. Grumpy old man,” Darcy groused, inspecting her hair for crumbs.

Bucky had honestly thought that was the end of the conversation.

As if.

* * *

 

Darcy wouldn’t say that dating Isaac was the highlight of her life, or anything, but it was nice to get out and socialise with people other than Earth’s Mightiest Heroes every once in a while. Dinner in a nice Italian restaurant with a cute, smart, and slightly dorky guy: there were definitely worse ways a girl could spend her evening.

“I don’t know if this is a bit forward, but a college friend of mine is opening an exhibit at the MET on Saturday night, if you’d like to come with me? It’s mostly Impressionist work, as far as I’m aware, but it should be interesting.”

Darcy watched Isaac chatter on with an indulgent smile. He was a cute guy, shy and awkward, but with just enough guileless charm to pull it off. He was also a ‘Blank’, someone whose soulmate had, sadly, died before the pair could meet. Darcy had never liked the terminology, considering it a bit…tactless. For example, she’d never call Natasha Romanov a ‘Blank’ to her face, even if it was the popular term. Isaac didn’t seem to mind being a ‘Blank’- apparently his mark had faded to almost nothing when he was only ten, before he was really old enough to appreciate its significance.

Darcy thought it was just about the saddest thing in the world, and she often found herself unconsciously and covertly touching her soulmark whenever she was out with Isaac- as if the proximity to him would endanger her bond with Bucky.

Isaac hadn’t been freaked out when she’d told him about her own status, which was a huge plus. Some people didn’t believe that platonic soul-bonds were real, and refused to date anyone who claimed to be in such a bond. Judgmental assholes.

“Um, Darcy?” Isaac gentle voice brought her back to the here and now.

“Oh, yes? Sorry, work’s driving me nuts,” she explained, taking a sip of wine to hide the small white lie.

Isaac was a nice guy, but her mind had a tendency to wander when she was with him. Sometimes it _did_ wander onto work, or the new MAC lipstick she had her eye on….but mostly it wandered onto Bucky, and what it might be like to have a date with _him_ at a quaint little Italian restaurant in Queens, or a trip on the ferry to Staten Island, or a stroll through Central Park holding hands on a weekday afternoon.

Stupid brain.

“The MET exhibit. Would you like to go?” Isaac asked, with a tentative smile. His cheeks were a little pink- probably from the wine, as well as the prospect of asking her out, despite this being their fourth ‘date’.

Darcy smiled warmly, charmed as ever by his boyishness. The scruffy brown hair and glasses really got to her.

She was about to agree wholeheartedly, before realising that Saturday was Bucky’s birthday. She knew he didn’t want a big fuss, but she would at least like to spend the day with him. She’d planned to cook him his favourite meal, pumpkin ravioli, even if it was totally out of season, because this was his first birthday since they’d met and she wanted it to be awesome for him.

“Oh, it sounds great, but actually…Saturday doesn’t work for me. It’s a friend’s birthday and we’ve already made plans,” she explained, feeling guilty at Isaac’s slightly disappointed expression. “I know it won’t be opening night, but maybe we could go on Sunday?”

Isaac smiled. “Actually, he’d invited me to the preview on Friday evening. It’s at 7pm, though, and I know you often work late Fridays.” Yeah, because Jane was a mean old boss who hated weekends and was determined to make them as short as possible- which usually meant a late finish on Friday and an early start on Mondays.

If Darcy didn’t love the little tyrant so much, she’d hate her.

“That works out perfectly- Jane’s on holiday at the minute, so I can finish early on Friday.  I’d love to go to the preview. It sounds so grown up and sophisticated,” Darcy joked, twirling her wine glass in her hand. Even in a half-swanky restaurant like this, Darcy felt like she was playing pretend. She was still about sixteen years old at heart.

“‘Fun’ might be an exaggeration, but at least we can laugh at the snobby artist-types together,” Isaac  grinned mischievously.

Yep, there were definitely worse ways Darcy could spend her evenings.

(But maybe there were better ways, too.)

* * *

 

"Where's your girl, Barnes?"

“Who?” Bucky replied absently, his thoughts a million miles away. He hadn’t exactly _wanted_ to come to ‘Lad’s Night’ in the penthouse suite, but Steve had explained that it was for his birthday and so he really _had_ to attend.

Obligational bullshit.

Considering it was for _his_ birthday, shouldn’t he get to decide how he spends his last day as a ninety-eight year old?

Wilson rolled his eyes, smirking along with Barton.

"Darcy, of course. Is she coming along later? Giving you a bit of that  _birthday cake_?" he asked, sniggering. Bucky didn't really understand the reference, but he was pretty sure what they were getting at, and he didn't appreciate it.

Barton had necked about five beers and as many tequila shots, so he was even more verbose than usual. "Yeah, man. Birthday sex is a twenty-first century institution! It's your one guaranteed day of doing the dirty!”

“‘Sides Valentine's Day, of course," Wilson added, a lecherous glint in his eyes.

Bucky grimaced.

Although he tried very hard not to think about Darcy in _that way_ , sometimes it just sort of…happened. For all that Hydra had tried to carve the humanity out of him, he was still just a man with ordinary needs that flared up from time to time, especially when he was around his ridiculously beautiful soulmate. He assured himself that there was no real harm in picturing Darcy when he touched himself, yet every time he saw her afterwards, he felt incredibly guilty.

As if a dirty old man like him had any right to think of her like that.

“Mmm ‘though, I heard that Lewis might be giving her cake to someone _else_ tonight,” Barton stage-whispered (re:shouted).

“What?” Bucky snapped, a cold flash rushing through his body.

Surely Barton didn’t mean…Darcy wasn’t _with_ a man, was she?

In spite of his intoxication, Barton looked extremely sheepish. Wilson watched the tableau with amusement as Steve approached, concern etched in every line of his face.

Anger clouding his judgment, Bucky took a threatening step towards the archer. “What did you say?” he repeated, through grit teeth. He felt the warm weight of Steve’s hand on his flesh shoulder, trying to gently coax him back.

“She…she’s on a date, man. Sorry, just…thought you knew,” Barton mumbled lamely, looking anywhere but at Bucky.

He was fine. He wasn’t having a manic episode. He was fine. This pain wasn’t the worst he’d ever felt.

Or was it?

Steve’s familiar voice broke through the red. “On a date with who?” He sounded as blindsided as Bucky felt.

Why wouldn’t Darcy have _told_ him about this? Weren’t they… _together?_ Sure, he hadn’t asked her to go steady, but he thought…he thought they had something. Or, at least, the beginning of something. They hadn’t kissed or really flirted all that much, but…they spent all of their time together. They went on dates several times a week. She was his girl.

Right?

“Um, this guy from the SI labs. Isaac Kennedy.”

That didn’t tell him enough. Who was this guy, out with Darcy? Was he safe? Had he been vetted properly? Bucky managed to gather himself enough to ask.

“What’s he like? Background check?” he managed, shrugging Steve’s hand off his shoulder and relaxing his stance.

Barton was his friend. It wasn’t right to intimidate him like that, regardless of the stupid shit that came out of the archer’s mouth.

“Born and raised in Chicago. Twenty-eight years old. Went to Yale. Majored in biochemistry. Graduated Magna cum laude. Worked for Stark Industries for five years. Volunteers with a local cancer charity in his spare time. Not so much as a detention or a speeding ticket his whole life. Good kid,” Natasha rattled off coolly, her dark eyes watching Bucky warily. He hadn’t even noticed her approach, he was that far gone on thinking about Darcy with someone else that his decades of training had lapsed.

“Good,” he said faintly, completely embarrassed with himself. “Darcy deserves the best,” he added, with the sinking realisation that he was about as far from ‘the best’ as it was possible to be.

Case and point, losing his cool and almost threatening a team member…at his own birthday gathering.

“Excuse me,” he murmured, striding quickly from the room, glad that Steve didn’t follow him.

Bucky couldn’t handle the pitying looks.

He didn’t deserve them.

He didn’t deserve Darcy, either.

Bucky didn’t remember even walking back to his room, but there he was, staring at the ceiling and tormenting himself with visions of Darcy out in the City with someone else. Someone normal, who could go to dinner with her unarmed, who didn’t have flashbacks in a busy bar, who didn’t avoid the subway at all costs because the screech of the metal tracks petrified him. Someone who could do all the normal, mundane things that stable people took for granted.

He hated that guy. _Isaac Kennedy._ The anger bubbled and seethed inside him until he had to physically fight the urge to punch something _hard_. He pressed his hands to his mouth, muffling a desperate scream.

He felt wild. _Wild_ with jealousy, with longing.

Desire.

Desperation.

His hands, scarred, and blood-soaked, and inhuman slipped over his ears, trying to block out the voice playing on repeat in his head.

It wasn’t Zola’s. Or Pierce’s. It wasn’t his father’s disappointed tone, nor his headmaster’s irritated one. It wasn’t his Commanding Officer’s sharp bark.

It was his own voice, reminding him of every damn flaw. Every imperfection. Every sin.

There were so many. Almost a century’s worth.

How could he be so angry at Darcy? How could he feel so betrayed, when her decision to find someone else was so…logical. Obvious, really. Of course she didn’t want him. Who would? He was a monster. A murderer.

He was nothing.

 _Nothing_.

“Bucky? Hello? Bucky?” But now _her_ voice was in his head, and he pressed his hands to his ears so tightly his skull creaked. It was bad enough to hear his own voice reiterating the truth of his worthlessness; he couldn’t bear to hear it framed in Darcy’s beautiful tones.

“Bucky? Are you okay?”

He felt a stirring of air, mere feet from where he lay, and his eyes flews open, his body reacting on instinct as he sat bolt upright on his bed, reaching for a weapon.

Darcy stood against the wall, her hands out in front of her in the universal sign of ‘I’m unarmed. Don’t hurt me.’

Her eyes were wide, her body tense with the natural desire to flee, but her timid smile really unhinged him.

Fuck. He loved her so much.

“Darce.” His voice was harsh and guttural as it pierced the tense silence between them.

“Hey, you. Are you okay? Steve said you seemed upset when you left them.” Darcy’s body language immediately relaxed, and she sidled towards him with no care for the gun within his reach.

Bucky swallowed. “Flashback.” The lie was bitter on his tongue, but it was the only way. If Darcy knew what had set him off… She might resent him. She might scorn him for being so stupid to think she could ever care for him in _that_ way. She might pity him and promise never to date another man again.

He couldn’t decide which scenario would be worse.

“Can I sit?” Darcy asked, gesturing to the empty space on his bed. He always lay on the right side, as a habit.

When he nodded, she dropped onto the hard mattress with a little huff, errant curls of her hair floating around her neck. She was wearing a soft blue top he had never seen before, and a tight skirt that went past her knees. Her feet were bare, so the shoes she’d worn must have been uncomfortable- maybe high heels. Bucky knew she hated them.

It was clear that she had dressed especially for him- that Isaac Kennedy, and the thought sent more jealousy pulsing through Bucky until he thought his skin might turn green like Hulk’s.

“Why are you here?” he asked, the question escaping his lips before he could realise how rude it sounded.

Darcy just blinked at him in surprise. “I thought that was obvious?” she replied, a teasing lilt to her voice that he couldn’t parse.

Bucky shook his head, his eyes enchanted by the little smile curling the corners of her lips.

“I’m here to help you celebrate your birthday!”

“It’s not my birthday,” he replied immediately. Darcy’s smile didn’t dim at all.

“Okay, but it will be in… six minutes, so play along,” she explained, leaning slightly over him to look at the bedside clock.

Her perfume was heavier, darker than the scent she normally wore, but he liked it all the same.

Bucky wet his lips. “Okay.”

Darcy grinned delightedly. “Great! So first, I’m going to sing ‘Happy Birthday’ to you-”

“Doll, you can’t sing.” She really couldn’t. He’d heard her caterwauling enough times to know that she wasn’t musically gifted. At all.

Darcy shoved at his shoulder. “Can so,” she said indignantly. “Now don’t interrupt. So, I’ll sing you ‘Happy Birthday’ at 12am on the dot, while I present you with your birthday cake, then I’m going to give you your presents, and then I’m gonna hit the hay, because I’m worn out. _But_ tomorrow at around midday, we’re going to pick up the _partay_ again, have lunch with the crew, then you and I’ll binge watch whichever movies or TV shows you like, and then I’m going to cook you dinner. Followed by more movies. Probably. Sound good?”

It sounded like a near perfect day, as far as Bucky was concerned, and for the umpteenth time he wondered at how lucky he’d been to get her for a soulmate.

He did, however, have one small suggestion, spurred on by a sudden desire to prove that _he_ could be normal.

“Sounds good, Darce. But I think I’d like to get out of the Tower for a bit, maybe go for a walk in Central Park, stop off for a coffee, or dinner, even,” Bucky said, conscious of the faint heat in his own face as he said it. Although he and Darcy had gone on dates before (or what he had apparently, foolishly _thought_ were dates), they had never gone out for dinner together, perhaps because it was the quintessential ‘dating’ activity, and Darcy had hoped to avoid it.

He waited for a quick dismissal.

Darcy, as ever, defied expectation. “Ooh that sounds even better! There’s actually this little French place out in Harlem that I think you’d _seriously_ love, they do the best French onion soup, and their crème brulee is honestly unreal,” she gushed, practically alight with glee.

Bucky felt overcome with relief. “Can’t wait,” he admitted, realising the truth of his words. He didn’t remember the exact moment in his long recovery process that he started looking forward to things again, but he had a distinct feeling that it was all connected to Darcy.

Wasn’t everything?

Darcy glanced at the clock again, before shuffling off his bed. “Okay, stay right here!”

 _As if I’d go anywhere else_ , he mused, watching her flit from the room with a massive smile on her face.

She returned just over three minutes later (maybe he counted the seconds, so what?) bearing a beautifully frosted cake coated in rainbow sprinkles. Two candles, both in the shape of ‘9’ adorned the top, and Bucky rolled his eyes at her persistent joy in reminding him how goddam old he was.

As promised, she serenaded him with a truly eye-watering rendition of the Birthday song, before insisting he blow out the mocking candles and ‘make a wish’.

“What kind of wish?” he asked, unsure. This hadn’t been a tradition in his day. Mostly because no one had enough money to be making cakes every time someone’s birthday came along.

Darcy tutted, shifting her weight to try and balance the cake better. “Anything you want, Bucky,” she explained, but her voice was as tender as her expression, and he kept his eyes on hers as he wished for the one thing he wanted most in the whole world.

“Yay! Okay, just don’t tell anyone your wish, and it’ll totally come true!” Darcy said, hurrying back into the kitchen and setting the cake down with a little huff. “Do you want a piece now? I’m having some.”

Bucky snorted. “Thought it was my cake.”

“Well, I learned the last time that your kind and generous nature stops at cake, Sarge, so I’m getting what I can now,” she retorted.

Bucky laughed. “Sure, why not?”

When Darcy returned, she had two plates in each hand, and a sizeable gift-bag hanging from her elbow. Bucky felt a quiver of nervousness: what on earth had she gotten him?

“For you, birthday boy,” she said, handing him a plate. The cake was Victoria sponge with raspberry jam, his favourite, of course. Darcy thought of everything.

“Looks amazing, doll. Thank you.”

Darcy just smiled at him, a little shyly, and handed over the gift.

What does one buy a half-mad, former-Soviet assassin soulmate for their birthday? Bucky wondered, as he reached inside the shimmering gift bag.

“New arm in here?” he teased, to lighten the tension. Darcy wrinkled her nose at him.

“Ooh, so close.”

“Hmmm new brain? Could do with one of those.”

Darcy sniffed. “Your brain is awesome, and so are you,” she stated primly, gesturing for him to hurry up and begin unwrapping.

The bag was filled to the brim with scrunched tissue paper in a variety of vibrant colours. Bucky rustled around until his fingers closed around a hard block.

A book, definitely.

He glanced up at Darcy, who was watching him with impatient anticipation as he carefully unwrapped the book. A plain, clearly old, leather-bound volume fell into his lap. He peered at the title: _Anne’s House of Dreams_.

“Is this _Anne of Green Gables_?” he asked. He knew that book was one of Darcy’s favourites from her childhood, so he had made a point a few weeks ago to read it. He had been surprised by just how much he enjoyed it. That Anne character reminded him a lot of Darcy: mischievous and bold, but with a heart of gold.

Darcy smiled, wiping an errant sprinkle from her lip. “Yep, there’s a whole series. That’s the fifth one.”

Bucky raised an eyebrow at her. “Wouldn’t it have made more sense to get me the _second_ one in the series?”

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him. “Just finish unwrapping your presents, old man.”

Bucky grimaced at her, but did as instructed. Over the course of five minutes, he had unwrapped a total of nine books, all looking as old and worn as he felt. Rainbow-coloured tissue paper littered his bed.

He had figured out Darcy’s ‘theme’ on book number five:  A.A.Milne’s _Once on a Time_ , which had the year of publication clearly printed on its emerald green spine.

 _1917_.

All of the books she’d chosen for him had been published the year he was born. It was a lovely sentiment, as deeply thoughtful as he knew Darcy to be, but in many ways, 1917 no longer felt like the beginning of his life. The years before his incarceration by Hydra were murky, almost as dark and unfathomable as the years he had spent on ice. _Now_ , though, now he felt alive, truly, and it was all because of Darcy. This, 2016, was his year of birth far more than 1917.

He didn’t say that, of course, because he was delighted with her choice of gift: few things gave him more pleasure than adding to his extensive personal library, which had taken over a whole room in his and Steve’s living quarters in the last few months.

“There’s one more thing,” Darcy said, before he could begin thanking her. She produced _another_ book, this one unwrapped, from behind her back.

Bucky took it from her outstretched hand eagerly, curious as to the title. The cover was a beautiful pattern of metallic swirls on soft grey leather, but it was without words. A quick flicker through the pages confirmed that they too, were blank.

He looked to Darcy for explanation, but she simple smiled and reached over to open the book at the very first crisp page.

Four numbers were etched in black ink, in Darcy’s own hand: 2016.

“I know birthdays are kind of about looking back, but to be honest, I think it’s good to look forward too, y’know? So, you can maybe use this to write your own story, or just random things that come into your head. Or, y’know, your grocery list, if you want,” Darcy rambled, her cheeks noticeably pink.

Bucky felt his throat tighten. It was as if she’d read his damn mind. His eyes tickled with the threat of impending tears, but the last thing he wanted to do was cry in front of Darcy.

“I love it,” he said softly, stroking the delicate pattern on the notebook.

 _I love you_.

Darcy set down her plate and shifted towards him on the bed. Bucky’s heart began to race as she gently extended a hand towards his own, carefully laying the tips of her fingers on his knuckles.

“I’m really glad. I wasn’t sure what to get you,” she confessed, and he looked up in time to see her smile.

“Can never go wrong with books,” he murmured, setting the notebook with his other gifts. Darcy nodded.

“Well, I know what to expect for my birthday, then,” Darcy teased, handing his piece of cake back to him. He took a huge bite, surprised by how hungry he was. It was delicious. Perfectly made.

“I’ll have to practice baking you a cake, though. Not sure I know how,” he admitted, smiling at Darcy’s amused cackle.

“I’ll teach you. We’ve got plenty of time,” she said, her eyes shining with laughter. Bucky’s chest tightened, knowing that wasn’t true. Soon she’d be too wrapped up in her new romance to have time for him and his pathetic problems.

Darcy yawned widely as he finished the last of his slice. She smiled guiltily at him. “Sorry, I was up late last night, sending data to Her Almost-Royal Highness.”

“How did their ski trip go?”

Darcy shrugged. “Thor had a ball, of course. I think Jane's just happy to be back in her beloved lab to be honest,” she explained with an eye roll.

“You’ll get a lie-in tomorrow, though? Or today, I suppose.”

“Yep. I’ll have a lazy morning, and then we begin the celebrations!” She did an approximation of ‘jazz hands’ that absolutely tickled him.

“Don’t worry about tidying that up,” Bucky told her, as she began gathering up the tissue paper. “Just go and sleep. I’ll get it.”

“If you’re sure…” she hedged, in a way he knew meant that she felt bad about leaving something, but really couldn’t be arsed to do anything about it.

“Absolutely,” he assured her, mustering a wobbly smile.

Darcy stood up, arranging her slightly rumpled skirt. Bucky tried not to stare at the shape of her hips and thighs, but largely failed.

She turned to him and leant down slowly, pressing a short but sweet kiss to his cheek. Bucky forgot to breath for a split second as the sensation of her soft lips registered on his stubbled skin. The twin sweet smells of her perfume and shampoo wrapped around his senses, and he clenched his fists on the duvet to stop from reaching out to her as she backed away with a smile.

“Happy birthday, Bucky.”

And then she was gone. He heard her shuffling in the entrance, heard the distinctive sound of heels on wood as she opened the front door and left the living quarters.

When his mental faculties returned to normal, Bucky glanced at the clock on his nightstand. Only 00:11 and it was already the best birthday of his entire life.

He set about gathering up the tissue paper, folding each piece into a neat square and placing it lovingly into the gift bag. His new books he stacked by the bookcase; he’d have to slot them in their proper place later. He had a system.

While rinsing cake crumbs down the sink, he noticed an envelope propped up against the cakebox.

The card was a funny one; a bald-headed cartoon coot informing him that it was ‘better to be over the hill than buried under it’. Six months ago, he would have disagreed- life seemed like a constant battle, one that he could never win.

But now…now he was glad not to be buried in some nondescript shallow grave, as Hydra had no doubt planned for him after the successful launch of Project Insight.

He was alive, and relatively safe, and he had friends, and it was the biggest ‘fuck you’ that he could possibly give to those sick bastards who had tried to completely destroy him.

They hadn’t succeeded, and he wasn’t going to let them.

Darcy had written a short message inside the card in bright pink ink:

_Bucky, I hope your birthday is as wonderful as you are._

_Lots of love, Darcy xoxo_

He repeated those words to himself as he got ready for bed, and he saw himself in the bathroom mirror, grinning like an idiot as he brushed his teeth.

_Lots of love, Darcy._

Love.

He knew she didn’t mean it _that_ way, but it was his birthday, right? He could enjoy a pleasant fantasy for just one day.

Bucky picked up the notebook as he settled into bed. He had known he wanted to make a small amendment the second Darcy had shown him the first page.

Before the numbers 2016, he carefully added: January 20th.

The day his real life started. The day he met Darcy.

He allowed himself a small smile as the ink dried. Much better.

Shutting off the light, he rolled onto his side, and looked at the birthday card, propped open so that he could read Darcy’s words as he drifted off.

_Lots of love._

His last wakeful thought was to wonder if wishes ever did come true.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Guys...deep breath.
> 
> I know after reading that chapter you're probably thinking 'um...isn't this a Bucky/Darcy fic? What are you trying to pull here woman, making Darcy date another man?! Why are you crushing Bucky's heart like this?!'
> 
> I'm just going to say- trust me, please. This _is_ a Bucky/Darcy fic, and I ship them so hard, but neither of them are ready yet. They're both firmly in denial, and Isaac is just a plot point (sorry Isaac!) to help them get over their weird issues when it comes to acknowledging their feelings for one another.
> 
> I promise, they _do_ figure it out, and there's a massive, gooey 'I love you' scene that'll probably make your teeth ache. But there are still a few twists and bumps in the road before we get there.
> 
> Again, thank you all for the feedback, it's a real joy to know what you think :)
> 
> P.S. I know Bucky's 'official' birthday is 10th March but I changed it to late April to fit with my timeline better.


	8. Tenerife Sea

  _'And should this be the last thing I see_      

_I want you to know it's enough for me_

_'Cause all that you are is all that I'll ever need'_

Ed Sheeran- "Tenerife Sea"

* * *

 

Bucky’s Bangin’ Birthday Lunch (so titled by Darcy, of course) had been a raucous affair. Bucky’s faux-pas the night before seemed to have been forgotten by the team, who delightedly chowed down on Caprese salad and pumpkin ravioli (all made by Darcy. Bucky had been very tempted to “kiss the cook” for her thoughtfulness), before enthusiastically serenading him with another rendition of ‘Happy Birthday’ as Darcy presented him with a pyramid of red and gold cupcakes all emblazoned with the letter ‘B’. A bottle of Thor’s infamous millennium-matured ale was also presented to Bucky by the man himself, but the rest of the team immediately demanded that he share his birthday present with them there and then. The team viewing of the _Star Wars_ series had degenerated into a heap of drunk people half watching the films, half talking a pile of shit.

It had been a fantastic party, but Bucky held back on the ale and simply enjoyed the natural high of anticipation about his and Darcy’s date that evening.

He understood that Darcy hadn’t specifically called it a ‘date’, and he knew that he was probably delusional to view their dinner plans as anything bordering on romantic, but he had decided to allow himself a small modicum of pleasant fantasy on his birthday.

Tomorrow he’d wise up and sternly remind himself that he was fortunate Darcy even wanted to be his friend, let alone anything else.

Darcy skipped out of Stark's home cinema just before 6pm, throwing him a wink as she excused herself. They had tacitly agreed not to mention their outing to the rest of the team, for fear that they’d invite themselves along, or tease the pair of them mercilessly. Bucky frankly didn’t care who knew that he was going to dinner with Darcy, but he didn’t want any ribbing from Stark or Barton to make Darcy uncomfortable.

By the time 6:30 rolled around, Bucky decided it was definitely time to excuse himself. Bruce and Stark had scurried off to the lab in a fit of (drunken- on Stark’s part) glee mere minutes before. Barton and Wilson were both passed out drunk on the couch and the floor, respectively. Fresh from her ski trip, Dr Foster was sitting on Thor’s lap, scribbling enthusiastically in a worn notebook, seemingly unfazed by her soulmate’s exuberant commentary on ‘the noble Jedi’. Vision had begun to wax lyrical on the religious undercurrents of the film (Wanda was the only one actually listening to him), and Steve and Natasha were eye-fucking each other with growing intensity.

There were some things Bucky Barnes never wanted to see, and one of them was his best friend getting down and dirty. Judging by the light flush of alcohol on both the Widow’s and the Captain’s cheeks, that scenario was seeming more and more likely.

“Headin’ to bed already, Buck? Ninety-nine sure is hitting you hard,” Steve teased as soon as Bucky stood up.

“Hilarious, punk. Hilarious. I’m just goin’ to have a rest. It’s been a fun day, thanks,” Bucky replied, giving a small smile to all of the conscious members of the group. Thor raised his cup with a wink, and Wanda shot him a shy smile.

“Funny, Darcy seemed pretty keen for ‘a rest’, too. Are you sure you won’t be _headin’_ to the same bed?” Natasha murmured, with a sly smile as Bucky attempted to pass her.

Bucky snorted. “Maybe I oughta. Don’t fancy hearin’ you not restin’ in Steve’s bed… _again_ ,” he sniped quietly, before leaving the room. It felt nice to get one over Natasha in the verbal stakes for a change, even if he knew she’d make him pay for it in the long run.

Bucky showered swiftly, and attempted to cajole his hair into some sort of order. He occasionally toyed with the idea of cutting it shorter, but the fact was he tended to hide behind it a lot more than he’d care to admit. Besides, he didn’t like the idea of looking like ‘Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th’ too much.

It would be like seeing a ghost in the mirror. A man long dead.

With that melancholy thought, he dressed in a pair of dark slacks and a rich blue shirt Natasha had bought him for his birthday, which covered his arm very nicely. He tossed on his trusty leather jacket, which concealed more weapons that any civilian would believe possible. He’d still have to use a flesh-toned glove to hide the hand (Stark was supposed to be investigating tech that would digitally conceal the whole arm), but all in all it wasn’t a bad ensemble.

He thought. In all honesty, these days Bucky’s fashion confidence began and ended at tac gear and combat boots. Not exactly something to wear on a date, even in these modern times.

He avoided looking at himself in the mirrored walls of the elevator as he headed down to the lobby. It was seven on the dot, so he knew that Darcy wouldn’t be there yet. Punctuality really wasn’t her strong suit.

Bucky perched himself in an unobtrusive corner of the lobby, with sightlines to the main entrance and the elevators. He was feeling pretty nervous about the whole ‘taking Darcy to dinner at a French restaurant’ thing, so it was pretty understandable that he didn’t realise the woman herself was approaching him until she was only a few feet away. It was also perfectly understandable that his jaw literally dropped like one of those cartoon things when he saw her.

Darcy looked like a vision in high heels and skinny jeans, with a black and white checked top that inexplicably made him think of picnics. The straps were thin black lines bisecting her pale shoulders, only half-concealed by her wavy hair. Bucky tried not to stare too much at the little daisy-shaped buttons that trailed down the centre of the fabric, straining ever so slightly to contain her beautiful figure.

“Hey handsome!” she called, waving at him with faux coyness. A black cardigan was wrapped around the strap of her handbag, a small wicker affair in the shape of a seashell, and Bucky couldn’t help but smile in the face of her quirkiness.

“Darce. You look lovely,” he admitted, approaching her. Darcy beamed. Her lipstick was tomato red. Her earrings were shaped like little strawberries.

“Back atcha. I love that shirt,” she chirped, slipping her arm through his and leading him from the building.

He may have blushed, momentarily. “Thanks. It was a birthday present from Natasha.”

Darcy looked up, appraising him again. Without her glasses, her eyes looked exceptionally green. She was wearing the perfume he liked best, the one that was both darkly rich and sweet. His slacks felt just this side of too tight.

“She has good taste.”

Darcy hailed a cab in mere seconds, giving the driver the address of the French restaurant as she and Bucky settled in the back seat.

It would’ve been far cheaper, and quicker, to take the subway, but he really didn’t want to ruin the evening by having a flashback.

Darcy didn’t seemed phased in the slightest, spending the half-hour journey pointing out various landmarks and commentating on some of the stranger figures they saw walking the city streets.

The buildings were awash with the gold of impending sunset, and Darcy was a warm weight against his side, in spite of the spacious backseat. He grinned like an idiot the whole ride, and couldn’t even manage to be embarrassed about it.

It was his birthday, after all.

The restaurant didn’t look like much from the outside; a relatively small window looking out onto the quiet street, and a simple sign hanging in stark white above the plain door.

But then, Darcy had a knack for finding obscure eateries whose rough décor was usually hiding incredible food.

Bucky got the door for her, which earned him the usual delighted-yet-exasperated smile, and he waited patiently while the server checked their reservation. The young woman smiled at both of them, before guiding them through several interconnected rooms of diners. The place was definitely far bigger on the inside than it appeared.

The server settled them in a cosy booth, and Bucky panicked for a moment before Darcy sat down, leaving him with a space that provided a decent view of the fire exit, if he tilted his head just so.

Darcy caught his eye and smiled. “Okay?”

He nodded, touched as ever by her thoughtfulness and tact. It couldn’t have been easy, pre-approving every venue that they ended up in to suit Bucky’s unusual needs.

“Would you like to order drinks now?”

Darcy didn’t bat an eyelid as she said: “Yes, we’ll have a bottle of the Taittinger Brut Reserve. Thanks. Oh, and some water, too. Please.”

The server looked to Bucky expectantly. “Oh. Uh…I’m fine with water for now.”

“Very good, sir. The wine list is here. We have everything organised based on the dish you choose, so you can be guaranteed the best combination of flavours.”

Darcy nodded in thanks as the server took off. Bucky turned to her.

“Since when are you a champagne connoisseur?” he teased, unable to resist.

Darcy just sniffed haughtily. “Tequila may be my favourite poison of choice, but I can be classy! Besides, Taittinger isn’t too expensive. If you tell a waiter ‘hey get us a bottle of champagne’ they’ll pick a really expensive one. My impressive champagne knowledge is important for my wallet.”

Bucky frowned. “You’re not paying for this.”

“Yes I am,” Darcy replied calmly, flicking through her menu.

“You’re not.”

“Am.”

Bucky grit his teeth. “Not.”

“ _Am_ so, Bucky-Bear!”

She was so bloody stubborn sometimes. “Darcy, I’m serious-”

Before their childish argument could escalate any further, their server returned bearing an ice bucket, water, and glasses.

Bucky glowered at Darcy, but she only stuck her tongue out at him.

When the waitress had poured them each a glass of champagne, Darcy raised her glass and clinked it against his. “Cheers, birthday boy.”

Bucky smiled and took a sip, surprised by how pleasant the taste was.

“See? Champagne connoisseur,” Darcy said, throwing him a wink.

The room was dimly lit, with candles providing the most lighting. For Bucky, this was no problem, but he could see Darcy squinting down at her menu, her nose getting closer and closer to the paper. Perhaps wearing contact lenses hadn't been the best idea.

“D’you want me to read it to you?” he whispered, leaning close. It felt wrong to talk loudly in a place like this. Their booth was like a little cocoon shutting them out from the other diners there.

Darcy immediately flushed and glowered at him. “You’re the old guy. I should be reading to you, not the other way ‘round,” she groused, pouting dramatically.

He shouldn’t stare at her lips so much.

“Then use the torch on your phone, old doll,” Bucky teased, grinning widely when Darcy poked at his side with her elbow and scowled.

“You’re the worst.”

“Nah. You are.”

* * *

 

By the time the crème brûlée was served, Darcy was groaning every two seconds and patting her belly dramatically. She’d enjoyed quite a few glasses of the ‘birthday champagne’, certainly far more than Bucky had. In her words: alcohol was kinda wasted on him.

Their usual easy flow of chatter had waxed and waned as each delicious course was served. Because of Bucky’s appetite, he’d ended up ordering three mains, and Darcy, being greedy, had insisted on sampling every single one.

Darcy blamed the flush of alcohol and delightful tightness of Bucky’s shirt for making her insist that he feed her the samples off his own fork. She had probably just imagined the darkening of his eyes, but it was nice to pretend all the same.

In all honesty, Darcy had been a tad nervous about bringing Bucky to this place. Sure, it was one of her favourite restaurants, but she usually only called in for lunch. On the one occasion she’d had dinner there with a group of girlfriends, she’d noted how incredibly _romantic_ the place was, specifically the intimate little room that she and Bucky were inhabiting.

Jane had accused her of trying to ‘signal’ to Barnes that she, quote, ‘fancied the long johns off him’, but was ‘too chicken’ to actually admit it. Darcy may have thrown a piece of donut at her boss for that comment.

Because it was totally, 100% true. She did fancy the proverbial underwear off Bucky, and it was getting harder and harder to conceal. She’d even toyed with the idea of calling things off with Isaac, but she was selfish, and enjoyed his company, and she _really_ wasn’t ready to throw herself heart-first at Bucky when she had zero idea of how he felt about her.

Keeping their earlier argument about the bill in mind, Darcy discreetly excused herself, and intercepted the waitress on the way to the bathroom.

Bucky would surely complain and sulk when he realised what she’d done, but Darcy didn’t mind. She loved his pouting face.

Sure enough, Bucky looked the picture of indignant when she told him they were paid up and ready to go.

“Darce, thank you, but it’s too much money. I’d never’ve ordered so much if I knew you were paying,” he complained, trailing her out of the restaurant.

“Hush up birthday boy, you deserve to be spoiled. You can take me out for dinner on my birthday, okay?” Darcy tucked her arm through his, revelling in the feeling of warm, solid muscle through his sexy leather jacket.

Bucky huffed, glowering at her. “Where are we going?”

“I thought we could just walk for a bit, then get a cab. It’s a pretty night, right?” She grinned up at him, gratified to see the warm smile he sent to her in return.

They walked mostly in silence, contentedly observing the comings and goings as they passed. Bucky was, naturally, on alert for even the slightest hint of a threat, but for the most part he seemed to relax enough to enjoy their impromptu stroll.

At one point they passed a jazz bar/dance hall, and Darcy spotted Bucky immediately perk up at the music wafting out the open doors. They could just spot a few couples dancing energetically in front of a proper band playing on a small stage. It looked so fun, if Darcy had been with anyone else, she would’ve dragged them in there immediately.

Something about Bucky’s wistful expression drew her up short. He paused on the sidewalk, his head tilted slightly as he listened to the music. He looked like he was seventy years in the past.

After a few minutes, Darcy nudged him gently. “Y’okay?”

“Yeah. Yeah.”

“Itchin’ to get on that dancefloor and show them how it’s done?” she teased.

Bucky’s cheeks coloured slightly. “Don’t think so. Not sure I’d even remember what to do with my feet.”

“Aw, of course you would! It’s called muscle memory. I bet you’d be able to drag me around that floor like nobody’s business.”

Bucky looked a little sad again. He shook his head, as if clearing away cobwebs, before slowly leading her away from the bar.

“Bars and I don’t really mix,” he said, shrugging with embarrassment. Darcy recalled his reaction to the crowds that first night they went to the cinema together. She never wanted to see Bucky so torn up again, but she knew it was always a possibility. It didn’t bother her. She didn’t think it was a reason to avoid things, but then it really wasn’t her choice. Whatever made Bucky comfortable had to take precedence.

“We could do it at the Tower. In one of the gym rooms. I’ve always wanted to learn to dance all gracefully.” She released his arm and did a flamboyant twirl right there on the pavement to illustrate her point.

It worked. Bucky smiled and reached for her arm again.

He didn’t speak for a few minutes. “Maybe someday, Darce. Right now…the past is…too hard to deal with. I try to avoid it as much as possible.”

Darcy nodded and squeezed his arm in understanding.

But Bucky wasn’t finished.

“I wish you’d met me before. Before the war and all that… I think you would have really liked me,” he said, pain etched in every syllable. Darcy’s gaze snapped up to him immediately, but he was staring off into the distance.

She gripped his arm a little tighter. She knew that Bucky had some self-esteem issues, mostly centering around his mental health, but she’d never heard him say something like that before. The self-hatred in his voice rattled her.

“I like you now,” she protested immediately.

“I don’t even like me now,” he admitted, with a sad little half smile.

Darcy couldn’t leave _that_ statement alone. She stopped dead and pulled Bucky out of the way of other meandering pedestrians.

She let go of his arm and stuck a finger in his face, because if she wasn’t angry with him, she’d end up in floods of tears in the middle of the street, and that was wholly unacceptable.

“You listen to me James Buchanan Barnes, and you listen well. You are a kind, caring, funny, and downright wonderful human being, and I won’t have _anyone_ , including you, say one bad thing about you. Got it?” She said, in a low, urgent voice.

Bucky was staring at her in shock, seemingly unable to formulate a response to her tirade.

Darcy took that as an invitation to keep on going.

“I know that you’ve done awful things in the past, but I also know that you’re trying to atone for all of that in the present. Even though you never chose to do those awful things in the first place. And that’s just confirms what I know about you.”

Bucky’s voice wavered when he finally got a few words out. “Yeah? What’s that?”

“That you’re a good man, Bucky. A good man to whom horrendously evil things have happened. But _you_ are not a bad person. Not one bit. The world’s full of people who choose to do evil, and you never have. So just- just _stop_. With the self-hatred, okay? Just stop. Give yourself a fucking break.”

“O-okay.”

“Sorry for yelling at you on your birthday, but that was obviously very necessary.” Darcy’s cheeks were flushed with a residue of anger, but she was blinking away tears, too, as she gently took Bucky’s arm again.

They eventually hailed a cab after walking for another couple of blocks. Darcy had initially worried that her outburst might have counted as an argument in their friendship, but Bucky seemed perfectly content to hold her hand and chitchat on the drive home, even if he did look more pensive than normal.

After escorting her to her door, Bucky hesitated, shifting from one foot to the other as he stared down at her earnestly with those stunning blue eyes.

“Darce…I just wanna say, thank you for today. It was absolutely amazing, and it was all because of you-” Darcy couldn’t help but blush “-I just want you to know that I appreciate it…and everything you do for me. I’m really lucky to have you in my life.”

Between the sincerity and quiet joy apparent in his expression, and the tenderness of his speech, Darcy thought it was pretty understandable that her eyes misted over for a bit.

“I’m really lucky to have you, too,” she assured him, with a slightly wobbly smile. Her breath caught as Bucky leaned down, enveloping her in a firm hug. It was the first time he had ever initiated a hug, and Darcy knew just how much significance it held for Bucky to do that.

They definitely held each other for far longer than was generally deemed acceptable in regards a ‘friendly hug’, but Darcy couldn’t have cared less. Being in his arms felt amazing.

More than that, it felt _right_.

Eventually, they broke apart, wishing one another good night. Darcy watched him walk to the elevators with a noticeable bounce in his step, and she couldn’t help but smile.

She had meant every word she said on that street corner: Bucky was a wonderful person, who had suffered things that no one should ever have to experience, and still managed to remain wonderful in spite of it all.

Darcy just had no idea how to make him believe it.

* * *

 

_I killed a man._

_I shot him._

_Entry wound left temple, above eye socket._

_Exit wound-_

“Buck, y’okay? I’ve said your name about three times in a row.”

There was Steve, worried as always. It seemed wrong that _he_ should be concerned about Bucky, given that he had been the one to brush with death mere hours ago.

“Dealing.” That was the only answer Bucky could muster. He wasn’t alright and he knew it. Steve knew it, too.

This was his first kill since he’d escaped Hydra’s clutches.

And it had been his decision. He’d seen that agent heading for Steve’s back, hunting knife in hand, and he’d shot him within two seconds. A perfect kill shot.

It was his decision.

And now it was on his conscience.

And he had to deal with it. Alone.

The other team members seemed to read the situation perfectly, for the quinjet was almost silent during its entire three hour journey. It had been a long day for everyone; exhaustion and jetlag were just adding to the physical strain they all felt after wading through another of Hydra’s scum-filled bases. At this point, it felt never-ending. Hydra's mantra seemed truer than ever, and they were all tired of cutting off heads.

When they arrived back at Stark Tower, Bucky headed for his room immediately, even though it wasn’t where he really wanted to go.

He forced himself to take a much-needed shower, tried to focus on meticulously removing his clothing and weapons, scrubbing his skin under the fall of water and studiously avoiding the sight of rusty blood seeping down the drain.

He wasn’t going to run to Darcy like some scared little boy.

He _wasn’t._

Except five minutes later, he found himself standing outside the door to her apartment in sweatpants and a worn t-shirt, with damp hair and a distinct feeling of desperation.

His pride- what little he had left to begin with- had packed up and left.

He quietly implored Friday to let him into the apartment, a slight flash of panic striking through him as he realised the AI may not grant him access at such an odd hour of the night.

To his astonishment, the cool Irish voice informed him that Darcy had had his details added to the encryption system on her front door- all he had to do was let the biometric scanner read him, and he’d be free to go in at any time.

His lingering doubt about pestering Darcy evaporated, and he fidgeted impatiently as the scanners did their work.

In a blink, he was standing in the doorway of Darcy’s bedroom. He could see the outline of her body under the duvet, hear the soft _swoosh_ of her deep breathing.

Seeing her safe and alive helped settle a little part of the rattling in his brain, but it wasn’t enough.

“Darcy?” he whispered to the darkened room. He felt guilty for waking her at such a ridiculous hour, but he could feel his throat constrict with panic on every exhale, and he needed desperately to talk to her, to be with her.

Bucky slowly approached the bed, feeling distinctly like a child slipping into its parents’ bedroom after a particularly upsetting nightmare. Darcy stirred lightly when he said her name again.

“Wha??” she groaned, rolling sluggishly onto her side.

By some miracle, she didn’t scream when she spotted him looming like a silent spectre by her bed.

“Bucky? Y’okay?” she slurred, squinting as she attempted to sit up against her pillows. She reached out to flick on her bedside lamp, but a sound of anxiety erupted from Bucky, and she thought better of it.

“No.” His voice was rough and cracked. Darcy immediately lifted the edge of her colourful duvet, patting the space beside her on the bed.

Bucky clambered in without hesitation, lying on his side and curving his body towards her, leaving scant inches between them.

Darcy rolled over to face him. He could tell by the slightly vacant drift of her eyes that she couldn’t see him all that well in the nearly total darkness of her room, but he could see every detail of her face, and it was already calming down his racing heartbeat. He traced the curves of her dark eyebrows, the slope of her fine nose, her full lips, and pointed chin, the flutter of her eyelashes as they brushed the tops of her cheekbones. Her vivid green eyes staring at him with such patience, and compassion, and affection.

“I killed someone today.” His voice was a timid whisper, breaking the protracted silence of their little cocoon.

Bucky watched the concern bloom across Darcy’s face.

Not concern that she was lying in bed, inches away from a murderer.

Concern for _him._

“You aren’t injured or anything, are you?”

“No… Steve almost got stabbed in the heart. I shot the guy tryin’ to do it. That’s…that’s why I did it.”

Darcy breathed a sigh of relief. “Rest of the team safe?”

“Yeah.”

Darcy smiled and kissed the tip of his nose.

He was glad she couldn’t see his expression.

“Then that’s all that matters. You guys look after each other. The big bads deserve whatever they get. You saved Steve’s life. You have nothing to feel guilty about,” she assured him, her voice soft and coaxing. She slowly raised a hand to his hair, clearly waiting for him to shy away.  He didn’t.

Bucky was caught between hungering for her touch and knowing that he didn’t deserve it. Darcy made the decision for him, gently insinuating herself closer until his cheek was resting on her shoulder. One hand carded through his damp hair, while the other stroked his arm and shoulder- the flesh one, of course. She knew better than to touch near his left arm. Apart from making him self-conscious about his prosthetic, it was pretty uncomfortable due to the damaged nerve-endings surrounding the shoulder plate.

The familiar scent of Darcy triggered an instant relaxation in his system, and he could feel himself getting everything back under control, including his breathing, which he focussed on matching to Darcy’s rhythm.

Before long, Darcy drifted back to sleep, her hands ceasing their movements, merely holding Bucky close. He didn’t mind. He would have liked to let himself slip into sleep as well –he had a hunch that lying beside Darcy would guarantee him the best night’s sleep of his entire life- but he couldn’t risk it. His sleep was still plagued by nightmares, and he wouldn’t risk hurting Darcy if he woke up feeling disoriented.

Bucky passed almost two contented hours, simply lying in Darcy’s arms and thinking about nothing other than her- her trust in him, that allowed her to fall asleep next to him without a single concern for her own safety. It was unbelievable.

He didn’t deserve it.

In spite of the lovely speech she had given him on his birthday last week, he knew that he didn't deserve good things, because he wasn't a good person.

Eventually, Darcy began to stir a little.

“Bucky,” she murmured suddenly, and he glanced up, expecting that she was awake. Her lips were curved up at the corners in a soft smile, but her eyes were still closed, her breathing and heartbeat still slow, and he realised that she was asleep. She was dreaming _of him._ That was a nice thought.

He watched indulgently as she squirmed around a bit more, frequently bumping into him. She clearly wasn’t used to sharing her generous double bed.

Darcy came to as the sunlight began to filter through her curtains. She stretched like a cat, legs and arms everywhere, before yawning loudly and fixing him with a bleary smile.

She didn’t seem surprised in the least to see him still lying there next to her.

“Hey. Sorry I dozed off.”

“Sorry I woke you up at 2am,” Bucky countered with a smile.

Darcy looked him square in the eye. “Any time you need me. I’m here.”

Bucky felt his heart quicken, his eyes shimmering with tears. He nodded and looked down at her hands lying on the violet bedsheets.

“Do you want to talk about it?” she asked quietly, her right hand slipping across the space between them and gently touching the back of his hand.

A few hours ago, the answer would’ve been a solid ‘no’. Now it felt less raw- _he_ was feeling less raw.

“I killed someone. I chose to do it, and then I did it. And he’s dead. Because of me,” he stated simply, not feeling capable of going beyond that small amount of personal analysis. He had no record of feeling like this. His emotions after any mission under Hydra had, at most, been a modicum of satisfaction as he reported the clinical details of his success to his handlers.

It wasn’t that he hadn’t experienced guilt for taking a person’s life recently; it was all he had thought about from the moment his self-awareness returned in the wake of the DC incident, and it had been a core part of his healing process under the watchful eyes of Steve, Wilson, and Dr Levantis for the past eight months. Guilt was something he knew extremely well, but it was different to feel guilty for something you had done without your own knowledge or consent, than it was to feel guilty over something you had made the informed decision to do. He had agency again, and it was scary. He had been a machine for so long.

He explained all of this to Darcy as best he could, and she listened with unwavering patience, as always.

“Bucky, you’re not a machine,” Darcy murmured when he had finished his explanation. “You’re a human with feelings and memories and choices…and you’re my soulmate, which means you’re a really awesome person by default,” she added, smiling cheekily at him.

Bucky grinned at her, feeling like his heart was growing four sizes in his chest. How did she do that? Take all of his negativity in one moment and send it flying far away?

“Because you’re awesome?” he teased.

“Obviously. Goes without saying…but if you wanted to compliment me, I won’t stop you,” she said, jokingly coy.

This was a chance he couldn’t pass on, even though she was only trying to cheer him up.

Bucky reached out to solemnly take her hand in his own, looking deep into her rich green eyes.

“Darcy Lewis, you are undoubtedly the most awesome person I have ever met, or ever will meet. No one else can compare.”

He was gratified to see that their little game had gotten a blush out of her. It was a game to her, maybe, but he meant every word sincerely.

“Even Steve?” she prodded, her thumb rubbing absentmindedly against the back of his hand.

“Steve’s not even close, doll.”

“Ok, I believe you. You’re very good at this complimenting business, I like that in a man.”

Bucky’s breath stuttered at the connotation behind her words. By the widening of Darcy’s eyes, she noticed it, too.

Her words hit him like a physical blow. He ached for that: to be her man. Not just her soulmate and friend, but her lover, her other half in all senses of the word. He wanted to twine himself around her until they were one being.

Their eyes met, and Bucky could’ve sworn that she leaned unconsciously towards him.

But because the universe was a monumental dick, Darcy’s phone started beeping obnoxiously, breaking the fragility of the moment.

Bucky gritted his jaw and prayed for patience when he rolled over to lift the device from the bedside table, the name ‘Isaac’ flashing in large letters across the screen. He handed Darcy her phone without looking at her and pulled back the duvet.

“I’d better go. Promised I’d sign off on paperwork before 9am,” he said, trying for light-hearted and wincing at the brittle jealousy that coloured his voice as he got out of the warm bed. “Thanks for…this.”

Darcy watched him with wide eyes, her phone clutched white-knuckled in her hand and her sharp little teeth biting into her bottom lip.

“O-okay. See you later, Bucky.”

He nodded and flashed a faint smile, fleeing her room before he did anything stupid like leaning down to kiss that bottom lip.

Fuck. He had it so bad.

And he had a feeling it was only going to get worse.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> For anyone wanting proof that Darcy is smitten with Bucky... _ta da_!
> 
> Full disclosure: Bucky's line about wishing he'd known Darcy back in the day is shamelessly adapted from Damon in _The Vampire Diaries_. I used to love that show; haven't watched it since about season 4, but that bit of dialogue always stuck with me.
> 
> In other news, thanks again for your kudos, bookmarks, and **especially** comments! I think they have some sort of magical powers because I've been writing a new Bucky/Darcy fic and sparks are practically flying from my keyboard every day! I've also just finished up a large 'extra' chapter for this fic- it'll be a sort of smutty 'end credits' scene, so maybe something to look forward to while we wait for these two dummies to figure out their feelings ;)


	9. Sick of Losing Soulmates

_'What a strange being you are_

_God knows where I'd be if you hadn't found me_

_Sitting all alone in the dark.'_

dodie- "Sick of Losing Soulmates"

* * *

 

 “You _slept_ with him?!” Jane crowed, her face lit up with delight at the prospect of hot gossip.

Darcy sighed. She should’ve known that Jane would just pick up that little titbit and run with it.

“ _No._ Not in the way you’re meaning. I slept while he was in my bed-”

Jane looked like the cat that had caught the canary.

“And why was he in your bed?”

“Because he was having a panic attack after that shitty mission they were on yesterday,” Darcy explained flatly. Jane was suitably chastened.  “And he needed some ‘TLC a la Darcy’.”

“So he came to your bedroom in the middle of the night for…cuddles?” Jane enquired, her raised eyebrow conveying just how little she believed they were only cuddling.

“Yes.”

Jane smirked. “Okay, so it isn’t sex, but I feel like cuddling is still a pretty big landmark for Bucky, hence why you’re glowing  right now.”

“Am not.”

“Did I have that expression on my face when I was mooning over Thor in New Mexico? I’m beginning to understand why you were so impatient with me,” Jane continued with a shit-eating grin, unfazed by Darcy’s glare.

“One: you looked like a love-struck idiot, which I do not,” Darcy said primly, stacking the folders in neat little piles on her desk. “And _two_ , I’m not mooning over Bucky. I’m just feeling all happy that I was able to do my platonic soulmate duties and make him feel better when he was upset. That’s all.”

“Uh huh. ‘ _Platonic_.’ Sure, Darce. _Sure_.” For a Nobel-prize winning physicist with three degrees, Jane sure could act like a leading character from _Mean Girls_ when it suited her.

Trying not to engage her boss further, Darcy flipped her the bird and kept on working. Jane didn’t know what she was talking about. Sure, Darcy and Bucky were hella close- they spent most of their free time together- but Bucky had _never_ signalled that he wanted to be anything more than friendly, and Darcy had learned to be alright with it. Usually guys took one look at her figure and her brash attitude and assumed that she’d be down for just about anything. She’d lost many a male ‘friend’ in college when they inevitably tried to make a move on her and then turned nasty when she firmly re-settled them in the ‘friend zone.’ Darcy hated the whole concept- guys and girls _could_ be genuine platonic besties without one of them inevitably falling for the other, regardless of what Hollywood might tell you.

Although she had to concede that her mooning for Bucky 24/7 kind of ruined her argument.

After a dreary half-hour of data input seasoned with some moping about the state of her emotions, Darcy heard the creak of Jane’s wheelie chair as she dragged herself across the lab to settle beside her assistant.

Darcy resisted the urge to punch her boss/bestie as Jane stared at her with the kind of analytical intensity she usually reserved for the cosmos. She was honestly feeling a bit raw in the emotional stakes.

Jane’s little stick arm reached out across Darcy’s shoulders. “You really love him, don’t you?”

Darcy tried to put on a brave face for all of two seconds, but she felt herself crumble like a sandcastle when the tide came in at Jane’s kindness. If even _Jane_ , _Miss Routinely-Forgets-to-Eat-Unless-Reminded-by-Her-Assistant_ and _Wouldn’t-Notice-an-Honest-to-God-Earthquake-Happening-While- She-Worked_ had sussed out that Darcy was careening towards Heartbreaksville on a one-way ticket, then Darcy felt like she was 100% screwed.

She knew she loved Bucky. There was no question about that.

But she also loved Jane, and Thor, and her brothers, her Mom, her gran. She loved a lot of people.

Being ‘in love’ with someone was a whole different kettle of fish, and something she had never before experienced.

Besides, there was every possibility that her feelings for Bucky were partly influenced by their soul-bond. There was legitimate science to back that up: soulbonds had a nasty habit of being self-fulfilling prophecies, and Darcy didn’t like to think that she was in love with Bucky just because he was her soulmate.

She was so confused.

“I don’t know how-”

“Jane, my love! I have brought your treats for the hour of eleven!”

As much as Darcy did love Thor, she didn’t appreciate his shitty timing. She glanced back towards the door, where the Asgardian Labrador was proudly striding in with a tray of coffees and a paper bag that almost certainly contained donuts.

She wanted tequila.

With a pathetic groan, she turned back to her desk and flopped down face first, bunching her arms up around her ears.

“Darcy, what ails you?” Thor inquired, in a far quieter tone of voice. Darcy could practically feel him and Jane silently conversing behind her via raised eyebrows, quirks of the mouth and vague hand gestures.

“Just tell him,” she groused at Jane.

Jane sighed. “It’s about Sergeant Barnes-”

“Has he harmed you, Darcy?” Thor asked immediately, his voice sharp with the crackle of impending lightning.

Darcy sat up, nudging her glasses back into position. “No! Of course not!”

 _Not yet_ , she thought gloomily. She trusted Bucky to never hurt her physically, not intentionally. Emotional hurt was a whole other matter.

Thor looked relieved, but still curious.

“I just…I’m having some trouble understanding my feelings for him,” Darcy explained, feeling completely embarrassed. She felt like a lead in a bad rom-com.

To her astonishment, Thor grinned and laughed that great booming laugh of his.

“My dear Darcy, you have nothing to fear!” Darcy prepared herself for Thor’s typical (but very sweet and much-appreciated) ‘Darcy you are a warrior’ speech. “It is clear to all that Sergeant Barnes is as deeply in love with you as you are with him.”

Darcy just gaped at him like a goldfish for several seconds before screeching “What?!”

“Oh my god Thor! I told you not to meddle!” Jane shouted, throwing her hands in the air.

Thor looked genuinely baffled. “But it is a well-known truth. Darcy and the Sergeant are in love, they must know this.”

Darcy was completely knocked for six. “I…Thor- just what? What the hell?!”

Thor was cool as a cucumber. “You are ‘dating’ this Isaac fellow, but you are in love with Sergeant Barnes. I have not understood it, but-”

“Oh my god! Why didn’t you tell me?” Darcy cried, throwing wimpy punches at Thor’s arms.

“You did not know who you are dating?”

“No! Why didn’t you tell me that…that I’m…that I feel that way about Bucky? I’ve been running in circles for weeks! Going fucking insane, trying to sort my shitty feelings out, and you knew exactly what was up and didn’t think to mention it? Not even once? What the fuck, dude?!”

Thor calmly caught her hands in his own. Darcy liked to think it was because her little punches were hurting him, but she knew that he really did it before she managed to injure herself on his godly muscles.

“Darcy, forgive me. Jane advised me against commenting on your relationship with Sergeant Barnes, and as I know that you initially had difficulty with your soul-bond, I felt it prudent to refrain from remarking on your growing affections for one another.”

Darcy let out a hysterical half-sob, half-laugh. “I’m not mad at you Thor, I’m just having a bit of a meltdown right now.”

“Darcy, maybe you should go and talk to Bucky?” Jane suggested, watching her anxiously.

A vibrant bolt of fear shot through Darcy at the prospect of telling Bucky… _that._

Fuck, he’d probably run for the hills and never come back.

“Jane, I can’t. It’ll scare him off.”

Jane gave her a weary but sympathetic smile. “I really don’t think it will.”

“The Sergeant adores you, Darcy. Of this I am certain,” Thor added, stepping up to Jane and resting his arm across her shoulders with practiced ease. Jane leant towards him immediately.

Watching the two of them, she couldn’t help but wish for a relationship like that.

But what if Bucky didn’t feel the same way about her?

Even scarier: what if he _did?_

“Shit. Oh my god! Ok…ok, I’m gonna go…find him,” she babbled, barely registering Thor and Jane’s matching Cheshire grins.

Darcy ran out the door like a cat on fire, but before Jane or Thor could congratulate themselves, she came barrelling back in about three seconds later.

“What about Isaac? What the hell am I going to tell him?”

Jane gave her excellent side-eye. “Well, you might need to break up with him.”

“You don’t say,” Darcy snarked, riffling through the pages on her desk in search of her phone.

Thor was too busy tucking into the donuts he’d brought and watching the drama unfold to solicit any advice, so Jane felt it was up to her to keep Darcy on the straight and narrow.

“You aren’t going to break things off with him via  _text,_ are you?”

Darcy glared at her. “Of course not! I was just going to text him and ask him if he could meet me this afternoon ‘for a talk.’ Then I’ll break things off with him. Honestly, what kind of person do you think I am?”

“A bit of an emotionally-stunted ditz, but a keeper all the same,” Jane replied, dodging the stapler flung her way with surprising grace.

* * *

After firing off a suitably vague text to Isaac, Darcy scooted on up to the pent house lounge, fully expecting to see the buff triplets (Sam, Steve, and the apple of her eye) fixing themselves monstrous sandwiches and gross-looking protein shakes in the state-of-the-art kitchen just like they did every day at noon.

Unfortunately, there was only one buff man to greet her.

And he wasn’t the right one.

“Oh, Sam, hey. Have you seen Bucky this morning? I can’t find him, and he and Steve aren’t answering their phones,” she said, trying not to show her disappointment. Maybe Bucky and Steve had just elected to run a little farther, or lift some more weights at the gym.

Sam’s mouth twisted up in a regretful smile. “Yeah, they just left about three hours ago. It was an urgent call out.”

Darcy felt her adrenaline plummet.

“Oh. Do you know how long they’ll be gone?” she asked, knowing that it was a stupid question. How long is a piece of string?

Sam just looked at her with sympathy. “I really can’t say, Darcy. Could be a couple’a hours, could be days. There’s no way to tell just yet.”

Darcy nodded, dejected, as she left.

“Ok, see you later, Sam.”

“Hey, Darcy! Was it urgent? What you needed to talk to Barnes about?” he called as she left the room.

She shrugged. “Uh, yeah. It was kind of important, but I guess it’ll just have to wait. Thanks, Sam.”

“No problem,” Sam replied, vowing to himself that if Steve and Bucky were gone for more than twenty four hours, he’d see about getting a civilian call placed to their nearest safe house.

Darcy clearly had something to get off her chest.

And Sam had a smug feeling he knew _exactly_ what that something was.

* * *

Darcy didn’t give herself the luxury of peering into Isaac’s packed office space like a sad little clown as she walked past on her route back to the lab.

She was totally bummed that Bucky was off-continent.

And she was also super bummed about having to break things off with Isaac, whom she had decided was an infuriatingly nice human being.

Breaking up with jerks and cheating scumbags was _way_ easier.

So she was in no hurry to have the undoubtedly excruciating conversation that she had scheduled for later that afternoon.

Unfortunately the Big Guy Upstairs wasn’t having any of her shit today.

“Darcy!”

The whisper-shout made her jump, and Darcy spun round to find Isaac slipping out of his office with a slightly guilty look on his face.

“Hey, I know you messaged about talking later, but you seemed a bit off. Everything alright?” Isaac asked, his big hazel eyes watching her with concern.

As much as Darcy would have liked to have a few more hours of guilt-free life, she knew that she couldn’t lie to his face.

“Um…yeah. I mean, no. Not really,” Darcy rambled, mussing up her hair.

If possible, Isaac’s eyes got even bigger. He was starting to resemble Bambi, which was not good, because that was like Darcy’s  _favourite_ Disney movie.

_Bandaid, think bandaid!_

“I don’t think we should see each other anymore,” she managed, wincing as the words came out.

_Harsh, much?!_

Isaac blinked at her for a few seconds. “Darcy, where is this coming from? Are you sure you’re alright, you look really flushed and worried. Has something happened?”

Darcy’s lower lip wobbled. “Isaac, you’re such a nice person, and I’ve really enjoyed spending time-”

Isaac sighed, but it wasn’t rude or irritated, just…unsurprised.

He shot her a slightly rueful smile. “But there’s someone else, right?”

Darcy nodded.

Isaac’s gaze darted down to her wrist. “Is it your soulmate?”

Darcy bit her lip. “Yes, it’s him.”

“You told me the two of you had a platonic bond. Was that a lie?”

Darcy winced. “No, it wasn’t. Honestly, our soulbond has been a bit rocky from the beginning, and well…I didn’t feel that way about him at first, but now I do, and I'm not sure if he even feels that way too. But I swear, there hasn’t been anything un-platonic going on between us, it’s just…he really needs me. And I really need him, and I’ve honestly just been tricking myself into thinking that I don’t feel that way about him.”

Isaac rubbed a hand through his hair, eyes glued to the floor. Darcy felt horrible.

“I’m so sorry, I really never meant to drag you into this. I like you a lot, and I guess I’ve just been trying to prove to myself that the bond is platonic, so I could date other people with no issues. But I was wrong. He’s just…he kind of snuck up on me, the feelings snuck up on me, and now you think I’m a horrible person who’s led you on for weeks,” Darcy rambled, her voicing cracking at the end. Man, did she hate breaking up with nice guys.

Isaac watched for a few, uncomfortable seconds before the warmth came back into his eyes. “Darcy, you’re just about the least horrible person I’ve ever met.” A small smile curled the edges of his mouth. “I can’t say I’m not disappointed; I really enjoyed hanging out with you, and I was looking forward to seeing where it might lead to, but you should be with your soulmate. I don’t exactly have experience with the whole soul-bond thing, obviously, but I gather that it’s a pretty big deal, and I don’t think anyone has a right to get in the way of it. Least of all me.”

“Oh my god, you really _are_ the nicest guy ever!” Darcy cried, wiping at her damp eyes with her sleeve.

Isaac grinned. “Even nicer than Captain America? Wow, I feel special.”

Darcy leaned up to give him a hug. “You are special, Isaac.”

“Thanks, Darcy,” he said with a bashful little smile, before hiking his glasses back up his nose. “See you around, yeah?”

“Yeah. Thanks, for being so understanding.”

Isaac waved her off, and she smiled at his retreating figure.

Hard as it had been to do, breaking things off with him had definitely been the right choice.

Now all she had to do was tell Bucky that she was in love with him without scaring him away.

Easy.

* * *

The mission to Colombia couldn’t have come at a better time. Bucky had been emotionally raw after his night with Darcy, and he’d jumped at the chance to throw himself right back into the action.

Steve had tried to dissuade him, all too aware of the turmoil his best friend had experienced the previous day, but Bucky wouldn’t be deterred.

Going to Darcy like that had been a mistake. It had been too intimate for their platonic relationship, and Bucky felt a deep unease at what Darcy must think of him, despite her kind assurances.

He was a coward and a murderer.

And an asshole for not even telling her that he was leaving. Obviously he could only tell her so much about a classified mission, and she  _had_ been working when Steve got the call, but Bucky could’ve left her a message with Friday. Darcy deserved that, at the very least.

So there he sat in a formerly abandoned warehouse in Barranquilla, waiting for a vicious Hydra arms dealer who wasn’t due to meet his ‘customer’ for another hour and a half, hating his own guts.

Said ‘customer’ was buzzing around Bucky like a fly, distractedly playing with his shield.

“Punk, will you sit down? I’m tempted to shoot you instead, just for a bit of peace.”

Steve huffed and muttered a few choice words, but he settled beside Bucky with his shield propped on top of his boots.

They both stared out the narrow slat in silence. The view wasn’t much to look at- just a sloping hill completely covered in shanty buildings, lit up with the last vestiges of the day’s sunlight.

“You doin’ okay?”

“Fine,” Bucky replied, in no mood for one of Steve’s psychoanalytical chats.

They lapsed back into silence, but Bucky could practically _hear_ the cogs turning in his best friend’s head.

“Where did you go last night?”

“What?” Bucky’s voice was sharper than intended. He thought he’d beaten Steve back to their apartment in the early hours of the morning.

“I got back early to sort the paperwork with Hill before I went on a run. You weren’t in your room.” There wasn’t any kind of accusation in Steve’s tone, but Bucky knew he was concerned.

Bucky cursed internally. He’d assumed that Steve spent the whole night with Natasha, and that _his_ absence wouldn’t be noted.

He shifted his position minutely, holding his rifle steady and watching through the scope. This bastard wasn’t getting within half a mile of the warehouse before Bucky took him out.

His prior guilt about the blood on his hands had washed off easily in the light of day. This was his job. This was what he was made for. Thinking he was made for anything else was what had left him in such a depressed state of mind.

Just because he loved Darcy, didn’t mean that he _should._

“Couldn’t sleep,” he admitted grudgingly, because he could feel the weight of Steve’s stare on the side of his face.

“You walk around the Tower for a bit?”

“Yep.”

“You go see Darcy?”

Bucky looked away from the scope long enough to give Steve a cold glare.

Steve chuckled under his breath. “I’m gonna take that as a ‘yes’.”

“Yeah, fine. Whatever. I was upset and I went to see my soulmate, okay?” _And used her like a damn crutch, as usual._ Bucky had scarcely experienced a nightmare or flashback since Darcy came into his life. He didn’t bother looking into that correlation too carefully, though.

The laughter had left Steve’s eyes. “Of course, Buck. You know I’m just messin’ with you.”

Bucky shrugged.

Steve shifted about a bit. “I’m just really glad you have each other. You deserve it. Both of you.” He sounded almost wistful.

“I don’t ‘have’ her,” Bucky grumbled, mostly to himself.

“Whaddaya mean?”

Bucky grit his teeth. “That Isaac bastard has her.”

Steve let out a huff of breath that sounded a bit like a smothered laugh.

"Bucky, she loves you."

Bucky's breath caught. He could hear his heartbeat thrumming loudly in his ears. "Don't say that," he snarled. "Don't."

Steve sighed. "Of course she does. Why're you avoiding the truth?" He didn’t sound amused anymore.

Bucky glowered at him, surprised at Steve's persistence. He had managed months without saying a word to Bucky about the soul-bond, and now he was back to nagging him about it at the exact moment that Bucky felt completely in over his head. Again.

“Leave it, Steve,” he warned.

“Buck-”

“I _mean_ it-”

“Will you just listen for one goddam second?” Steve burst out, voice raised. Bucky, surprised by his vociferousness, lapsed into a brief silence.

“I’ve been watchin’ you muck about with this for months, pining over Darcy. What are you doin’, Buck? She loves you, and you obviously love her-”

“She doesn’t.” He didn’t bother to argue against the reverse. It seemed pointless.

Steve scrubbed his hands over his face, reaching up to run through his hair.

“That’s just your low self-esteem talking, Bucky. You don’t see the way she looks at you, or how much she goes out of her way to spend time with you, to do little things that put a smile on your face. You think she doesn’t love you because you don’t think you’re worth loving.”

Bucky couldn’t respond. It felt like he’d swallowed his tongue.

There was a flush on Steve’s cheeks, now, as if he’d only just realised how deeply personal the conversation had become. But he was determined to soldier on.

“If you don’t at least _try_ , you’re gonna end up losin’ her to that other guy! She’ll never even know how you feel…you’re like a steel fortress, most of the time. It’s hard to get a read on you, even for me. Darcy probably hasn’t got a clue about how you feel.”

“I don’t…look, I know she cares about me. But I just…don’t think she feels that way, and if I tell her how _I_ feel…what if it freaks her out, huh? What if she runs away?” _What if she leaves me,_ Bucky thought. It was his number one nightmare.

“She won’t-”

“Look, just drop it, alright? I’m done talkin’ about this,” Bucky interrupted, firmly.

Steve was quiet for long enough that Bucky assumed he had dropped it.

After ninety years, he should’ve known better.

“Never knew you to let fear of failure get in your way,” Steve murmured quietly, but with an edge of challenge in his voice that grated on Bucky.

"That's easy for you to say! You don't know what this feels like!" Bucky shouted, cut to the quick.

It only took him a split second to register that he had gone too far.

The silence was deafening. It crept in like a slow frost, catching in both of their lungs. Steve's eyes were wide with a pain Bucky had never seen before. Had it been there all along? Had he been so absorbed in his own problems that he hadn't noticed his best friend suffering?

Steve cleared his throat. "You're right. I don't know." He turned and unzipped the top of his suit, showing Bucky the top of his back.

The words etched down his spinal column were quicksilver, almost invisible.

Bucky remembered when they were black as jet.

He felt something rise in his throat, and he thought he might be sick.

Steve's soulmate was dead.

The person destined to look his best friend in the eye and say "Is it really you?” was never going to have a chance to say those words.

“Steve.” Bucky’s voice cracked, lost for words as Steve shrugged his suit back up and faced him again. Steve’s eyes were red, skin blotchy.

“When they woke me from the ice…it was already like this. I have no idea when they…when they passed, but I suppose that doesn’t matter. All that matters is I’ll never get to meet them, I’ll never have a chance to experience a life with them…my soulmate.”

The anguish in Steve’s voice was killing him. Bucky had never seen Steve so upset; not when his Pa died, not even when his Ma followed a few years later.

Steve’s soulmate was dead.

And Bucky hadn’t even known about it.

Some friend he was.

“Steve…” He grimaced, pushing down his own slight apprehension, and pulled his oldest friend into a bone-crushing hug.

“I’m sorry, Stevie.”

His mind flickered back to a cold, wintery graveyard in Brooklyn, a gloomy, dilapidated chapel with funeral hymns being sung. Steve had been tiny, in those two occasions where Bucky had embraced him, tried to offer some comfort to him in a time of sorrow.

“Thanks, Buck.”

“Why the hell didn’t you say anything?” Bucky asked, his voice timid. Didn’t he and Steve share everything, when they were younger? Didn’t they tell each other everything? What did it say about their friendship that they’d been reunited for almost a year and Steve had never once intimated that his soulmate was gone?

Steve scrubbed a hand over his face. “At first, I was so focussed on helping you get better, I didn’t even think to bring it up. Then, as time went on, it just…got harder to say the words out loud. Guess I was in denial,” he shrugged, looking away.

Bucky didn’t really know what to say.

“I’m sorry, Stevie. What can I do?” he asked.

Steve glanced back at him, a faint smile curling his lips.

“Just go get your girl, Buck.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A little bit of background: originally I had toyed with the idea of Steve finding his own soulmate shortly after this, with Bucky getting his revenge and teasing Steve about freaking out. But, on reflection, I loved the idea of Steve and Natasha being together too much to do that, and whilst I was writing the 'mission' part of this chapter, it suddenly came to me that Steve's soulmate had been dead all along. I honestly tear up every time I read what Steve says about never getting a chance with his soulmate- I don't know if it's weird to cry at something you yourself have written, but there it is! I <3 Steve so much.
> 
> Also, those song lyrics at the top just sum up Bucky and Darcy perfectly, I think :)
> 
> Just one chapter to go...I think all of your prayers are about to be answered :D :D :D


	10. Can't Help Falling in Love

  _'Like a river flows_  
_Surely to the sea_  
_Darling, so it goes_  
_Some things are meant to be'_

Elvis Presley- "Can't Help Falling in Love"

* * *

 

 

How do you tell someone that you love them?

Darcy had no idea. She’d certainly seen people saying those three little (HUGE!) words in a few hundred TV programmes or movies, but they tended to veer from the O.T.T. declarations to the tragic ‘I love you…but we can’t be together.’

Darcy didn’t think either of those approaches were right…the problem was, she didn’t know what _was._

Saying it during sex was definitely a classic, massive _faux pas_ , but considering the fact that Darcy and Bucky hadn’t gotten anywhere near first base, she figured that one could be scratched off the list.

What Darcy needed was advice, from an experienced source. She briefly considered talking to Jane and Thor about it, but much as she adored the pair of them, this felt…delicate. Darcy wasn’t used to tiptoeing around anything (except for some of Jane and Tony’s stranger inventions), but considering how skittish Bucky could be when it came to ‘emotional stuff’ she didn’t think she could afford to get it wrong.

No, it was time to bring out the big guns.

Darcy curled up on her bed, clicking through her phone until she found the right number.

The phone rang for a solid minute before her Gran finally picked up.

“Hello?” Darcy smiled at her grandmother’s familiar voice.

“Hi Gran, it’s Darcy.”

“Darcy! Sweetheart, so good to hear from you,” her Gran cried. “Just bear with me for _one_ moment, dear. This confounded television remote won’t behave itself.”

Darcy, well accustomed to her grandmother’s frequent battle with the ‘mute’ button, hummed quietly to herself as her Gran rustled about on the other end of the line.

“There we are! Now dear, what can I do for you?” Darcy grinned at her Gran’s bluntness.

“How do you know I didn’t just call you for a chat?” She teased, fiddling with a small hole in her duvet.

Her impossibly elegant grandmother snorted. _Elegantly._

“Darcy, there isn’t a twenty-five year old girl in the entire world who would telephone her grandmother at 9pm on a Saturday for ‘a chat’. Shouldn’t you be enjoying yourself at a disco?”

Darcy laughed. “I’m getting a bit old for the club scene, Gran. They’ve got seventeen year olds slipping in these days. Besides, I’d prefer to watch Netflix and drink peppermint tea most nights.’

“ _Old?_ Darcy, my sweet girl, you have _no idea_ what ‘old’ means! What I would give to be twenty-five again.” She sounded so wistful that Darcy couldn’t help but feel a little glimmer of sadness on her Gran’s behalf.

“Okay, so what were you doing when you were twenty-five? And would you do it all again if a genie granted you a do-over?” Darcy inquired, leaving her own issues for the moment. She loved any opportunity to learn more about her Gran’s life.

Her Gran hummed. “Let me see…when I was twenty-five, it was 1944. The war was almost over, though, of course, we didn’t know that at the time. Your grandfather and I had been married for five years, but I hadn’t seen him in three by that point. We wrote each other letters every week, though, sometimes more than once a week, because the postal service was very untrustworthy. I was working in a little typing pool for a government organisation with which my father had some sort of connection. I had just begun working there the year before. It was my first job, and oh, how I loved it. The work itself wasn’t particularly interesting, but I adored the women I worked with- they were such fun, and most of them were like me, waiting for someone to come home…”

Darcy blinked, swallowing back a lump in her throat.

Her Gran sighed. “Anyway, your great grandmother _hated_ the fact that I was a ‘working girl’, so of course that simply made me enjoy it even more!”

Darcy managed a small laugh, but it sounded feeble even to her own ears.

“So dear, my twenty-fifth year wasn’t very exciting, I suppose. It was difficult sometimes, with your grandfather overseas, and _oh,_ the tales we’d hear on the wireless. It was frightful. I checked the lists every week when they were published, praying that I wouldn’t see your grandfather’s name.”

Darcy almost didn’t want to ask, but a small part of her was curious.

“Did you see Bucky’s name?”

There was a significant pause. Darcy had informed her Gran that her newfound soulmate was none other than the tragic James Buchanan Barnes a few weeks after the fateful ‘first meeting’. Her Gran had taken it with her usual air of calm aplomb, and hadn’t even thought to question it.

Still, it had to be a bit strange, seeing _another_ of your contemporaries looking like a twenty-something year old after a few decades on ice.

“Yes, dear, I did. Not that I was searching for it, mind you. Those lists were long, and it was too much to bear reading through every single name. Every poor soul.  I heard about it from Camila. She came home in a sorry state, tears all over her face, clutching the paper.”

It was strange for Darcy to imagine her great Aunt’s affection for Bucky, especially when Bucky still struggled to remember her.

“It was announced on the wireless, as well. He was very popular in New York, of course. One of our own Howling Commandos.”

Darcy smiled. She wished that she could share some of these little stories with Bucky, but he still struggled so much with his past that she couldn’t risk it.

Perhaps sensing her granddaughter’s melancholy mood, Darcy’s Gran changed the subject.

“Now dear, enough of talking about the past. How are you doing? Are you looking after yourself?” Her stern tone made Darcy feel like a five year old.

“Hey, I look after myself _and_ three scientists, Gran! I’m totally a responsible adult,” she replied, tongue in cheek.

“Alright young lady, if you insist. And how is Bucky?”

Hearing her Gran’s prim voice saying ‘Bucky’ never failed to bring a smile to Darcy’s face, but it was pretty half-hearted today.

“He’s away, at the moment,” Darcy hedged. Her NDAs said that she couldn’t talk about ‘Avenger’s stuff’, but Darcy knew that her Gran understood the kind of ‘work’ Bucky and the gang did. “I haven’t seen him or talked to him for a couple of days.”

Gran sighed. “Oh darling, I know how hard it is to be separated from your soulmate. There isn’t anything I can say to make it better, but I wish there was.”

Darcy glanced up at the polaroids on her corkboard. Bucky smiled down at her. Her eyes started to prickle with tears and she knew that she was about two seconds away from crying.

“Thanks, Gran,” she replied, trying to sound totally calm and collected.

“Darcy, are you alright?”

_Oh no, here come the water works!_

“No…not really,” she sobbed, wishing that she had a tissue on hand.

“What is it dear? Has something happened?”

“I broke things off with Isaac.” Darcy’s Gran had raised an eyebrow when she had explained that she was dating Isaac a few weeks back, but wisely hadn’t said anything more on the subject.

There was a significant pause. “Oh, darling. Might Bucky be the reason why?”

“Astute as always, Gran,” Darcy said, choking out a pathetic little laugh.

Gran’s tinkling laugh filtered through the phone speakers. “Darcy, an utter idiot could have figured that out. You’ve been in love with Bucky for some time now, haven’t you?”

Darcy groaned, flopping back onto her mattress.

“Did _everyone_ know but me?!”

“I don’t know, dear. Does Bucky know?”

Darcy chewed her lip. “No,” she admitted, softly. “I don’t know…I don’t know how to tell him. It’s…we don’t have that type of relationship, y’know? We’re friends, and he has a lot of intimacy issues-”

“Darcy, all I’m hearing is a lot of whining and hogwash. Where did my favourite tough granddaughter go?”

Darcy laughed. “Love has turned me into a marshmallow, apparently.”

“Well, you’d better harden up. Loving someone isn’t easy. Loving someone with shell shock is a hundred times harder,” her Gran said, with all the authority of one who had the real life experience.

Darcy felt like she was back at square one; back to those dark days when Bucky had just said her words and the reality of her soulmate had hit her like a sucker punch to the gut. Her initial fear about Bucky –that she couldn’t help him, that he deserved better, that their bond was a massive glitch in the matrix- had gradually faded as their friendship had bloomed. Friendship, she could do. If she said so herself, Darcy was an awesome friend.

But being in love with Bucky changed that. It changed everything about their relationship. How could they tiptoe around the soul bond if she announced that she loved him? Wasn’t loving him a tacit acknowledgement that the bond had been right all along? That they were meant for each other?

“Gran, what do I do?” Darcy asked, desperate now. Panic was clawing its way from her stomach and up into her throat.

“Well, dear, that depends. Do you really love him? Truly?”

Darcy thought about it. She thought about Bucky’s smile- the real one, where he flashed his beautiful teeth until dimples showed faintly in his cheeks, and the fine skin around his eyes crinkled. She thought about his eyes- not just when he was smiling, but when he was pensive, when he was sad, or scared, or mischievous. She thought about their strikingly pale shade of blue-grey, of how they contrasted with his enviably long eyelashes and dark hair. She thought about his mouth- the full, pink lips, and all the wonderful, sweet, funny, snarky, self-deprecating, frustrated, embarrassed, sorrowful, grateful words that she’d heard from them. She thought about his sense of humour, his loyalty, his determination, his fears, his self-loathing, his charm, his sincerity. She thought about his big arms –flesh and metal- about the incredible strength in them, and of how delicately he held her with them. She thought about his hands, reaching for hers when he was anxious or distracted, his fingers twining around hers.

She thought about every moment they’d spent together in the last three months.

“Gran, I love him so much,” she said, voice hitched with tears.

Darcy could practically _hear_ her Gran smiling. “Good. Then you hold onto that love, and you fight for it. And, most importantly, you _tell_ him.”

“Yes ma’am,” Darcy hiccupped, wiping her face with her sleeves.

“And get some tissues. Don’t wipe your nose with your sweater,” her Gran scolded, as if she were in the room and could witness Darcy’s uncouth behaviour.

“Gran, I love you.”

“I love you too, dear. Now, go on with you. I’m not the person you need to be saying that to.”

“Thanks, Gran. Talk soon?”

“Of course, Darcy. I’m only a phone call away.”

Darcy clicked her phone off. The sound of her sniffing seemed to echo in the otherwise quiet room.

“Oh boy,” she said to herself.

* * *

Bucky felt like he could puke.

And it wasn’t because of the blood and other unmentionable substances that were coating the bottom of his combat boots.

Steve’s pep talk in the slum house had been all well and good at the time. For a split second, Bucky had even imagined that he could do it: tell Darcy how he _really_ felt about her.

Now, after wiping out a small but sensationally vicious gang of drug and arms dealers, terror was starting to claw its way back into Bucky’s mind.

He slouched down in his seat, trying to shut out the sounds of the quinjet and settle his mind, but he couldn’t do it. Everything flickered right back around to Darcy. That was how he knew he was really screwed; his mind had been on the Darcy Channel 24/7 for over three months now.

He was in love with her.

Yeah, that much was obvious. But just because he _was_ didn’t mean that he _should be._

Darcy deserved better. She deserved safe, and normal. Someone who didn’t have to battle for sanity like he did. Someone who didn’t kill for a living.

His eyes drifted over to the pilot seat, where Natasha sat, cool and imperious as always. Steve hovered over her shoulder, staring out into the blue expanse with her. Steve’s back was to Bucky, but his sniper eyes were able to pick out the way Steve’s fingers brushed the red tips of Natasha’s hair.

Steve’s affection for Natasha surprised Bucky, sometimes. On paper, the pair of them made no sense together. Steve was honour and valour and honesty, and Natasha was cunning and mercilessness and lies. But they had the same witty, goofy sense of humour, the same courage and determination. Natasha only smiled her real smile when Steve was around, and Steve’s shoulders only relaxed when Nat was next to him. But they weren’t soulmates. Neither of them had soulmates, not anymore, because the universe was just that cruel sometimes.

But somehow he- James Buchanan Barnes, the Winter Soldier- had a soulmate. A living, breathing, wonderful and all-round amazing soulmate.

But instead of just being grateful, he was greedy. He didn’t want Darcy as a platonic soulmate, he wanted to be her everything; her best friend, her boyfriend…her husband, one day. And the thought of that scared the shit out of him because he hadn’t dreamed of stuff like that since 1941. He’d thought that he lost the ability to love someone when he was Hydra’s captive, but Darcy had stormed into his sheltered little world and shown him how wrong he was.

Bucky jolted from his thoughts when he heard Natasha murmur “Steve, take the stick for me, will you?”

He grimaced as she approached, bracing his hands on his knees in an attempt to waylay the anxious sweat that was building on his right palm.

“You look pained,” Natasha stated, the edge of her lips curling into her trademark smirk as she sat next to him.

Bucky shrugged, leaning his head back on the seat. “What else is new?”

He couldn’t see her expression, but he could hear the amusement in her voice when she said “Girl trouble?”

“Christ, please, let’s not have this conversation, _mom_ ,” he groaned, scrubbing a hand over his face. It was bad enough having Steve lecture him about his soulmate; he wasn’t sure he could handle Natasha too, regardless of her intentions.

Natasha chuckled. “I don’t exactly want to have this conversation, either, but Steve is worried about you and he asked me to try and…help.”

Bucky’s vague flare of irritation was the only excuse for his next salvo. “You do everything Stevie tells you?”

Natasha’s voice became disconcertingly smoky. “Not at all. It’s usually the other way around, actually.”

Bucky felt his face turn warm. “I could’ve gone the rest of my life not knowin’ that,” he groaned.

He could see Natasha shrug out of the corner of his eye. “You brought it up. Now stop trying to change the subject and let me give you some unsolicited advice about your love life, okay?”

“Fine. Shoot.”

“For both our sake, I’ll make this short and sweet. I don’t know you all that well, nor am I particularly close to Darcy, but it’s clear to anyone with two brain cells to rub together that you’re both helplessly and hopelessly in love with each other, so why not grow a pair and give it the old college try?” she said, her voice now dripping with fake sweetness.

Bucky turned to stare at her incredulously.

“ _That’s_ your idea of a pep talk?”

Natasha raised her eyebrow in silent confirmation.

“I can see why Steve’s the team leader,” he muttered, grinning when she flipped him off as she sauntered back to the pilot seat.

Steve beamed up at her with a soupy expression, gently touching her wrist as he thanked her. Natasha said something unintelligible that made Steve’s ears turning a burning shade of pink.

Bucky felt like he was going to puke, again. But for a wholly different reason.

* * *

 

 

When the quinjet finally pulled up to land at the Tower, Bucky could barely contain himself from punching through the door and leaping down onto the tarmac.

One more pitying look from Steve and he was going to be short one best friend.

“Buck, you’re practically shaking,” the punk said, smirking a little. At least it was better than the pity smile. Bucky had had enough of the Steve Rogers pity smile to last him forever.

Bucky’s hand convulsed on the strap of his duffel bag. “Yeah well…I’m kinda about to take a big leap, here.”

“No need. Just wait ‘til Nat lands,” Steve joked with a shit-eating grin.

Bucky may have elbowed him in the stomach- with his left arm.

“Ow, okay, sorry! Look, it’ll be fine. Just…wash up, yeah? Don’t think you want to be greeting Darcy in that state.”

Bucky grimaced because he hadn’t thought of that himself, and now he had an even longer wait before he could remove this boulder that had taken up lodgings in his ribcage.

With Steve and Natasha’s ‘blessings’ ringing in his ears, he hurried off the jet.

As if the universe was trying to mess with him just a little bit more, he was waylaid by Sam en route to his room.

“Hey. Mission go okay?”

Bucky usually tried to make _some_ effort with Sam, but today wasn’t the day.

“Yep. Fine.” Sam just laughed as Bucky all but rushed him, dumped his tact gear on the floor and started unlacing his boots.

“You in a hurry to be somewhere?”

“Maybe. What’s it to you?” Bucky retorted, peeling off his shirt.

“Might you be rushing off to see our young Ms. Lewis?” Sam inquired, with a smug smile that immediately set Bucky on edge.

“Why do you ask?”

Sam shrugged, waving his hand as if it didn’t matter. Bucky was about 0.4 seconds away from throttling the birdbrain.

“She was looking for you yesterday- Darcy,” Sam called, just as Bucky was about to slam the bathroom door.

He hesitated. “Did she say what it was about?”

“Nah, but she seemed pretty keyed up. I’d hurry, if I were you.”

 _What do you think I’ve been doing?!_ Bucky thought, irritated.

“Right. Thanks.”

He heard Sam chuckle as he shut himself in the bathroom. His eyes caught on his own reflection in the vanity mirror and he winced. He really did look a mess. His hair was clearly unwashed, and he had a fair bit of oil and gunpowder on his right cheek, not to mention the small brown splatters that were clearly blood.

The ugliest part was his shoulder, as always, but he made a point of never looking at it too intently.

With the hot water pounding his tense back, Bucky let his mind wander back to its favourite topic: Darcy.

He knew exactly why she’d been looking for him, even if Sam didn’t have a clue. She’d been keyed up because he was a chump who had showed up in her bed like a lost puppy, practically demanding snuggles and compliments, and then he took off on a mission without even telling her.

She was keyed up because she was ready to hand him his ass.

It wasn’t exactly the optimum opportunity to tell her that he loved her.

_“Darcy, sweetheart, I know I was a class A jerk for leaving without saying goodbye the other day, after you’d been so kind to me the night before. Forgive me? Oh, and by the way, I’m hopelessly in the love with you.”_

Yeah, that’d scare her away nicely.

He groaned. Hydra and their myriad bullshit were a piece of cake compared to this ‘feelings’ business.

Peering down at his left side, he watched the water sluice hypnotically over the metalwork and his soul-mark. Shouldn’t he feel confident about this? Darcy was his soulmate, after all. They were two halves of a whole, right?

He felt buoyed for all of two seconds. They’d been soulmates all this time, they’d known from the very beginning, even if they never spoke about it. And Darcy was with some other guy anyway.

That hurt, but…it didn’t change how _he_ felt. And it didn’t change the fact that he _had_ to tell her; he’d kept it bottled up for weeks, ever since his birthday when the true extent of his feelings made themselves known.

 _No guts, no glory,_ he told himself.

_Today’s the day._

* * *

 

Darcy had been pestering Friday at ten-minute intervals since she woke up that morning, and by lunchtime she suspected that the A.I. was starting to get pretty cheesed off with her constant queries about whether or not Bucky had returned to the Tower.

Jane might have been cheesed off too, but fortunately she was happily tinkering with Tony in his gigantic lab down the hall, so Darcy had the Foster-Lewis room all to herself while she worked.

That came in handy, because when Friday _finally_ confirmed that Bucky and Steve were back (and in one piece) Darcy literally leap out of her seat and ran around the room, all limbs flailing.

She definitely didn’t need an audience for that embarrassing moment. Shutting down her work station and cramming Jane’s messy notes back into their appropriate folder, Darcy worked hard to regulate her breathing and slow the heck down.

Jumping on Bucky the second he returned from a two-day mission probably wasn’t a great starting point for the big reveal, but for some reason her epiphany about her feelings for him was demanding to be acknowledged right away.

“Friday, is Bucky in his room?”

“Sergeant Barnes has just exited the shower, Ms Lewis.”

 _Wow._ There was a visual she didn’t need to be thinking about. Bucky stepping out of the shower, hair wet, water beading on all of those muscles, his metal arm gleaming…

Her mouth was suddenly _very_ dry.

“Would you like me to inform him that you intend to visit?” Friday prompted, after Darcy’s weird pervy thoughts had clearly gone on a bit too long.

“Oh um…yes. Please, tell him…I’ll call by when he’s dressed. And you know, ready.”

“Right away.”

Darcy played Angry Birds for the longest three minutes in the _history of time_ before Friday’s welcome voice returned.

“Sergeant Barnes is ready for you, Ms Lewis.”

 _Don’t think of it in a sexual way_ , Darcy chided her libido as she thanked the A.I and scurried towards the elevators.

One glance at her reflection in the mirrored walls of the elevator was enough to ratchet Darcy’s nerves up to critical levels. Her cheeks were flushed, her bottom lip had clearly been chewed on a lot in the last twenty-four hours, and her eyes had a distinctly _wild_ look about them.

She may as well have had a sign saying ‘Girl freaking out!’ hovering over her head.

 _Too late to back out now,_ she thought grimly, knocking reluctantly at Bucky’s door.

Her face flushed even more when the door swung open, revealing the man himself.  _Did he get more attractive since I last saw him?_

“Darcy, hi. C’mon in,” Bucky said quickly. He sounded a bit out of breath to her ears. Maybe he had gotten injured on the mission- Bucky had a bad habit of refusing medical assistance unless completely necessary.

And his definition of 'completely necessary' was everyone else's definition of 'on death's door.'

“Hey Bucky, how did the mission go?” she asked, following him into the living room. He gestured for her to sit, so she perched on the edge of the loveseat, feeling extremely awkward. Did she look weird? Was she talking funny or moving in a strange way? She suddenly felt very self-conscious of everything she said or did.

Darcy wasn’t so caught up in her own head that she missed Bucky’s nervous smile, or the way he tucked his damp hair behind his ears.

He sat opposite her, shrugging off her query. “It was fine. Pretty simple.”

“Oh. Good. You aren’t injured, are you?” she prodded, narrowing her eyes to let him know that she wasn't going to take any macho bullshit.

Bucky smiled softly at her, and she nearly melted into a puddle of goo. “Nah, I’m fine. Thanks for asking.”

_Okay, an awkward silence is definitely happening right now._

Bucky rubbed the back of his neck, his eyes darting everywhere but directly at her.

“I um…actually wanted to apologise. For the other night…I shouldn’t’ve done that, and then not tellin’ you I was leaving for a mission…” Darcy watched Bucky blush and stumble over his words with confusion. What exactly was he apologising about? Coming to her bed for snuggles? She was more than fine with it. Hell, she’d like to make it mandatory every night. She had never slept so well as that night when he was lying right next to her.

“Oh Bucky, that-” She giggled a little at how silly it was. “Bucky, you don’t need to apologise for those things! I’m just glad you’re okay,” she said, smiling at his relieved expression.

He blinked at her. “I thought you were mad at me.”

“Why would you think that?”

Bucky grimaced. “Sam said you were looking for me yesterday. He thought you looked all keyed up, and I figured the reason was that you were annoyed at me for crashing at yours and then taking off without saying goodbye.”

Darcy felt her blush re-emerging. _Damn you Samuel John Wilson!_ She hadn’t realised that her behaviour the other day might have been noted by the semi-therapist.

“Oh! No, em…I wanted to tell you that I uh…I broke things off with Isaac.” It wasn’t _quite_ what she’d been gearing up to say, but she supposed it was at least along the right lines. If the rise of Bucky’s eyebrows was anything to go by, he hadn’t been expecting it either.

Bucky was trying to be nonchalant, but it felt very much like he was having a heart attack as he asked, “Oh? Um, why?”

Darcy chewed on her bottom lip a bit more. “Because I realised that I’ve been stringing him on for the past few weeks, and…there’s someone else, who I like a lot more.”

The way her eyes darted furtively over to him on that last bit ignited the tiniest spark of hope in his chest.

“Uh…can I ask who?”

Darcy grimaced for a few seconds, looking for the right words to say that wouldn’t make her come across as a complete nutjob.

“I love you,” she blurted out, trying not to read too much into Bucky’s startled gasp. “And…and not just in a friend-type way. Like…I’m in love with you.”

Bucky’s jaw was on the floor, and his eyes were like something from Looney Tunes.

Belatedly, she chided herself for not seguing into that declaration a bit more gracefully.

She watched with apprehension as Bucky seemed to finally digest her words. His eyes held an expression that she didn’t quite know, so when he suddenly stood up, she worried that he was going to make a run for it.

What if she’d just ruined their friendship?

Before she could work herself up any further, Bucky took three long strides across the room and practically lifted her out of her seat and into the biggest bear hug of her life.

Not yet ready to hear his response to her declaration, Darcy clung onto him with the tenacity of a baby koala and pressed her face against his lovely chest. He smelled like sandalwood, and pure  _Bucky,_ and it was amazing.

"Does this mean that you aren't going to run for the hills?" she murmured.

Bucky pulled back a bit to smile down at her. 

“Darcy, I’ve been tryin’ not to fall head over heels for you from day one. It didn’t work. You’re…you’re everything.”

“Why were you trying not to fall for me?” she asked, softly. She winced at the clear hurt behind her question.

His pale blue eyes fixed on hers with so much intensity, willing her to understand. “Because I’m no good for you. You…I don’t want you to have to put up with my problems forever. It’s bad enough I have to deal with them, I don’t want them ruining your life, too.”

“Bucky, your problems aren’t going to ruin my life. _Or yours._ We’ll work on helping you get better _together._ Besides, I’m definitely coming out tops in this arrangement.”

Bucky raised a brow, a small smirk curling his lips. “Doll, when you say stuff like that, it worries me. You’re supposed to be the sane one and _I’m_ the fruit-loop, remember? You’re so far out of my league it’s almost funny.”

Darcy giggled. “I _am_ sane, and I am _not_ out of your league _._ You’re the most wonderful person I’ve ever met, for real,” she whispered, mollified when he blushed. “Not to mention you’re def-con levels of hot, with your eyes, and your smile, and your hair, and your butt-”

“Okay, okay. I believe you. You’re as deluded as I am, that’s good to know.”

“Yeah, well. We are meant to be, after all,” she pointed out softly, raising her wrist between them.

Bucky reached out with trembling fingers to trace the letters of her soul-mark. It still made him dizzy, seeing his words on her flawless skin, and now knowing that he had somehow managed to find a place in her flawless heart…it was more than he could have ever wished for in his wildest dreams, and a small part of him wondered if he was going to wake up in a Hydra lab any second.

Darcy was watching him with glassy eyes, so he gently took her right hand and guided it under his shirt, allowing her to trace the remains of _his_ soul-mark…and the mangled machinery around it.

“It’s here?” she murmured reverently, touching him so tenderly. He knew that she knew he was still self-conscious about his prosthetic, but for the first time, he was okay with the idea of someone else touching the places where man met machine, because he knew that Darcy only ever looked at him and saw the man. Not the Asset. Not the Winter Soldier. Not even Sergeant James Barnes of the 107th.

Just him.

Bucky.

Darcy suddenly glanced up at him, smiling coyly. Her hand hadn’t left his side.

“So…you love me, too?”

Bucky felt like kicking himself. Darcy had just poured her heart out to him, said _those_ words…and he hadn’t even gotten ‘round to doing the same himself.

_Idiot._

He placed his hands- flesh and metal- on either side of her face, and looked her dead in the eyes, because _dammit_ he was going to do this right.

“Darcy Lewis, I am completely in love with you.”

His cybernetic hand allowed him to actually _feel_ the heat rise in her cheeks as she grinned at him.

“Well, thank fuck for that,” she drawled, setting them both off into a fit of laughter.

When their giggles petered out, the silence was filled with a heavy sort of tension. Darcy’s eyes were flitting between his and his lips, and Bucky felt confident that he remembered what _that_ signal meant.

Couldn’t hurt to check, though.

“Can I…can I kiss you?” Bucky asked, voice hoarse. Darcy’s eyes were shining with tears, and she tried to blink them away so she could appreciate that adoring expression on his face properly.

It was the best thing she’d ever seen.

She laughed wetly. “Yes.”

He leant down the rest of the way, still hesitant. Darcy let him move at his own pace; she’d never been this close to his gorgeous face before, and she was enjoying it very much. He had a flock of miniscule freckles on the bridge of his nose that she’d never noticed before, and they were making her a bit weak in the knees if she was honest.

The tip of his nose rubbed against hers, like an eskimo kiss, and she giggled. She looked up into Bucky’s eyes and saw laughter break through the nervousness there. The muscles of his back noticeably relaxed under her fingertips, but his arms stayed tight around her.

Darcy didn’t really want to be the type of girl to wax lyrical about a first kiss, _but…_ when Bucky’s lips _finally_ brushed against hers, it felt a little bit like fireworks were going off in her chest.

And her head.

And her stomach.

After a few seconds of this gentle exploration, Bucky’s hand slid into her hair, tilting her head  just so as he pressed his mouth against hers firmly, muscle memory kicking in after decades of neglect. His lips were as soft as she’d imagined, and when she touched her tongue gently to them, he moaned in a way that made her heart skip.

Because this was how it was supposed to be.

Bucky was wrapped around her, and she was surrounded by his warmth, his smell, his _love,_ and there wasn’t anywhere in the universe that she’d rather be.

Fate had _really_ got it right.

 

**~The End~**

 (For now)

 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So...that's it. Ten chapters and 51,801 words later, our beautiful twosome are finally together!
> 
> I wrote this fic last year when I was having just the worst time on a personal level: my mental health deteriorated to a new low, I was facing huge, scary life choices, and in all honesty I think this little fic was the only thing that kept me going some days. It has been an absolute delight to share this story with you, and the feedback I've received has been wonderful. Thank you, very, very much.
> 
> Although it says 'The End', do keep an eye out for the 'after credits' chapter- I'll upload it next week :)
> 
> And if you're wondering why this cuts off just after the 'I love you' part, I do have tentative plans to create a sequel looking at their relationship more in depth. This fic was really just about them finding each other (and themselves, I guess!) It's a part one, I hope :D
> 
> Bye for now! xx


	11. Post Credits Scene #1: Cake

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> In which Bucky bakes, and Darcy gets cake.
> 
> Smut ahoy! 
> 
> **Mature/Explicit content**

_'I know you like it sweet_

_So you can have your cake_

_Give you something good to celebrate.'_

Katy Perry- "Birthday"

 

* * *

 

“Woah, hold on, Buck. Did you sift the flour twice?”

Bucky sighed, poised to pour the cup of Madagascan golden caster sugar (what a fuckin’ name) into the mixing bowl.

“What?” he said, completely exasperated with Steve’s anal approach to baking. Bucky had watched Darcy bake a dozen times, and she always took a very blasé attitude towards the recipe book. The things she created were always sensational, which Bucky took as proof that you didn’t need to follow the recipe to the letter.

Surprise surprise, Captain Tight-pants disagreed.

“It says to sift the plain flour twice,” Steve explained, tapping the page decisively. “Did you?”

Bucky gritted his teeth. “Don’t need to. It’s fine.”

Steve shook his head. “Buck, if you don’t follow the instructions, how can you expect the cake to turn out well?”

“Darcy never follows the instructions,” he grumbled, carefully pouring in a bit of sugar and some of the vanilla-sweetened milk.

Steve huffed a laugh. “Yeah, that’s probably because she isn’t totally inept in the kitchen.”

“I’m not ‘inept in the kitchen’, you little punk,” Bucky responded, brutally mixing the batter with the help of his left arm.

It was quicker than an electric mixer, much to Darcy’s delight.

Steve just showed him that shit-eating grin. “Fine, jerk. Don’t come cryin’ to me when the cake turns out shit.”

Bucky removed the wooden spoon from the batter and flicked it at Steve. In spite of the punk’s quick reaction time, a few small globs still managed to catch in his ridiculous eyelashes.

“I didn’t even ask for your help, Rogers. You just barged in here and started measuring things and givin’ me a hard time. I have this under control.”

Steve just flipped him the bird as he walked away, wiping the batter off his face.

Little punk.

.

.

.

As he surveyed the cake with dismay, Bucky had to concede that he had been wrong.

He did not, in fact, have it under control.

Somehow, the cake was burnt dark brown on the outside, yet when Bucky placed a fine skewer through its centre like the book suggested, he realised that it wasn’t fully cooked in the middle.

What the fuck did he do? Should he cook it some more?

Really, his go-to in this situation would have been Darcy herself, Goddess of Baked Goods, but he was making the cake as a gift for her birthday. A _surprise_ gift.

She had made him one, and he wanted to return the favour.

Except, this was the first thing he could remember baking in his _entire life_ , and it was swiftly going down the tubes with only a few hours to go before Darcy would be back from her ‘girls only’ birthday party. He still had to decorate the bloody thing.

Just as he was on the verge of an indecisive meltdown, Bucky heard a loud stomp of footsteps heading towards the kitchen and sighed.

_At least it’s not Steve._

“Ah, James! How fare you this eve?”

He’d never get used to seeing the enormous God of Thunder in sweatpants and a NYU hoodie. One night a few weeks back, Thor had worn a pair of baby-blue sweatpants with the word ‘Juicy’ scrawled over his ass to ‘family dinner night’. Stark had nearly had a coronary.

The ‘Juicy’ sweatpants had been a gag gift from Darcy, of course, but Thor had been delighted and wore them almost daily.

“Hey, Thor. I’m just uh…baking this, for Darcy.”

Thor peered at the cake over Bucky’s shoulder. “It smells wonderful,” he said, politely.

Bucky snorted. “Yeah, it does. Too bad it ain’t cooked in the middle. And it’s gettin’ burnt on the edges. I dunno how to fix it.”

Thor smiled. “Fear not, my friend. All is not lost. If you place the cake in the… _oven_ once more, it will cook the centre, and you can cut off the burnt edges. Are you decorating it?”

Bucky’s brain took a few seconds to compute that the _God of Thunder_ was giving him baking advice.

“Uh. Yeah. I was going to put on buttercream and then write a message.”

Thor nodded sagely. “If you make an additional amount of buttercream, you may use it to disguise any pieces of cake you have had to remove. A most useful trick.”

Bucky blinked at him until Thor grinned sheepishly. “My mother was a prolific cook,” he explained, wistfully, “My brother and I used to help with her endeavours, particularly if she was making sweetmeats. I did little more than lick the utensils, but it seems I learned a few things nonetheless.”

Darcy had told Bucky all about Thor losing his mother and brother, and Bucky felt a little sorry for the big guy.

“Thanks, Thor. Um…if you wanted, I could do with some help makin’ the buttercream,” he said, flipping through the cook book and opening it on the correct page.

Bucky lifted the baking tray in his left hand and carefully slid it back into the oven. When he turned back around he caught Thor smiling a little sadly as he read through the buttercream recipe.

“So, uh, I was thinkin’ lilac for the buttercream. What d’you reckon?”

Thor surveyed the line-up of food colouring on the countertop. “Lilac is a very appealing colour,” he said thoughtfully, “But I believe blue is Darcy’s favourite colour.”

Bucky frowned. Blue wasn’t really a colour that screamed ‘edible’, but he supposed it might be nice to tailor it to Darcy’s tastes.

“Good idea. Maybe a really pale blue, though?”

Thor smiled as he reached for the bowl of icing sugar. “Very nice, James.”

.

.

.

After two hours, a lot of careful carving, time out in the fridge, and some ham-fisted buttercream application, a beautiful pale blue cake sat on the worktop.

“It looks awesome,” Bucky said happily, pressing a few more pink icing roses around the edges of the message he’d painstakingly piped on the top.

Thor, visibly covered in a faint layer of icing sugar, grinned back at him. “Darcy will be most pleased. It is indeed a triumph.”

* * *

 

Darcy woke up to a pounding headache and a furry mouth. “Grown up my ass,” she muttered, heaving her twenty-six year-old (!) body out of bed. She chugged the water and painkillers that had been thoughtfully placed on her dresser, before treating herself to an indulgent and much-needed shower.

When she emerged from the bedroom feeling decidedly more human, she found Bucky sitting on her couch, watching baseball.

“Hey, don’t you have your own TV?”

Bucky turned and grinned at her over the back of the couch. “I do, but I’m not here to see the baseball, I’m here to see you, Birthday Girl.”

Darcy scrunched up her nose, but bent down to meet his lips all the same. “Sweet.”

She wasn’t sure what the glint in Bucky’s eyes meant, but he was off the couch like a shot, dragging her into the kitchen behind him. “Speaking of sweet…” he said with a flourish, gesturing to a beautiful glass cake dish that was currently supporting a big, pale blue cake covered in edible pink roses.

Darcy pressed her hands to her chest, glancing between the cake and Bucky. “You baked me a cake?”

Bucky wasn’t sure why she looked like she was on the verge of tears. “Um. Yes.”

Darcy’s lip wobbled precariously. “No one’s ever baked me a birthday cake before!”

That sounded like a bit of a travesty to Bucky. “Well, I did. Because you deserve it,” he assured her, pulling her into a hug. Darcy snuggled into him with a smile, staring adoringly at her amazing birthday cake.

After a few seconds, Bucky felt her tense against him.

“What?”

“ _Sorry you’re getting so old,_ ” Darcy read the words piped on the cake slowly, her eyes immediately narrowing as she glared up at him.

Bucky just smiled sheepishly.

“You’re a cheeky _old_ bastard, Bucky Barnes,” she admonished, poking his side before throwing her arms around his neck and kissing him soundly.

“Yeah, but I’m _your_ cheeky old bastard. No backsies, remember.”

Darcy giggled. “Oh, I remember alright. Thank you, it’s amazing. I love it, and I love you.”

Bucky felt the tips of his ears heating up. She said it to him every single day, but it never failed to make his heart race. “I love you too. Happy birthday, Darce.”

“So, are we having this for breakfast?” She asked, hopefully.

Bucky chuckled. “You sure your stomach’s up to it, doll?”

She nipped his pec with her teeth. “Watch it, or I’ll take a bite out of _you,_ ” she threatened, making the most ridiculous little growling noise.

“Oh, no. Someone save me from this evil, scary vampire,” he deadpanned, grabbing Darcy’s upper arms and holding her away from him.

She struggled for a second before stomping her foot and sticking her tongue out at him. “Hey, no fair!”

“If I cut you a piece of cake, will you promise not to turn to cannibalism?”

Darcy huffed. “Oh, _fine._ But only if you’re quick about it…you look _really tasty,_ ” she purred, winking salaciously at him. Bucky knew she was just goofing around, but somehow it still got his motor running, and he quickly turned away before she could make fun of the flush he was sure was on his cheeks.

Too late.

“Are you blushing, Bucky-Bear?” she teased, hopping up behind him and wrapping her arms around his waist as he fetched the bread knife.

“No,” he said, gruffly, thanking God that she was pressed up against his back and not his front. They’d been together almost three months, and they still hadn’t sealed the deal. It wasn’t Darcy’s fault; it was his. Intimacy still wasn’t his strong suit, but after years of ignoring the needs of his body he was finally starting to become more comfortable with his sexuality. It also hadn’t escaped his notice that his girlfriend/soulmate was the most drop-dead gorgeous woman he’d ever seen in his life.

“I think you are,” Darcy laughed, the warm exhale of her breath was enough to make him shiver, even through the cotton of his t-shirt.

“D’you wanna take a picture of this before I cut it?” He asked, shamelessly changing the subject.

Darcy just laughed again. “Yeah. Where’s your phone?” Without waiting for an answer she started digging her hands into his pockets, gratuitously squeezing his ass when she realised it wasn’t in a back pocket.

Bucky gripped the counter for support as her hands wandered to his front pockets. He knew that he should say something…something to warn her, maybe, but he was currently struggling to breathe.

“ _Oh!_ Sarge, is that a gun in your pocket or are you just glad to see me?” She drawled delightedly, her Mae West impersonation a total disaster.

Bucky managed a faint laugh at her antics. “Well, doll, it ain’t a gun. Makes a change.”

“Mmmhmm, this is definitely better than a gun,” she murmured, slowly ghosting her hand over the bulge in his jeans, clearly waiting to see if he’d flinch away.

Not fuckin’ likely.

When he rolled his hips forward experimentally, Darcy’s hand pressed against him more firmly, providing welcome friction.

Christ, he still had his pants on and she was going to make him come in the next five seconds if he didn’t try to rein himself in.

“Wait,” he said, returning the knife to its place.

Darcy’s hands were off him in a second, and when he turned to look at her, she was watching him with a hint of trepidation in her eyes.

He understood: they hadn’t done much more than heavy make-out sessions and some PG-level groping, and Darcy wasn’t going to be the one to push for anything more because she understood the connotations that physical contact still held for him.

“Maybe we should move this to your bedroom,” Bucky suggested, trying to keep his voice light and carefree, which was pretty hard with the way blood was pounding in certain areas of his body.

Darcy’s mouth dropped open. “Are you sure?” she asked, a little out of breath herself. Her pupils were heavily dilated, a strange part of Bucky’s mind noted with interest.

He nodded, his eyes locked on hers. “Yeah, I’m sure. I…want you, Darce. All of you, if…if you want me, that is.”

Darcy’s face broke out in a huge, sincere smile. “You’re all I want, Bucky.”

Without further ado, she launched herself at him, her arms and legs wrapping around him like vines.

As he staggered back a step, her fingers twined in his hair, pulling his lips to hers.

“You want me to carry you to bed, that it?” Bucky teased, quirking a brow as she squirmed slightly in his arms, her softs lips now scattering kisses all over his face.

“Mmmm yes, show me how strong and manly you are,” she replied, giggling when he hoisted her up in his arms and walked towards her bedroom. Contrary to whatever Darcy thought, she really wasn’t heavy at all, but if carrying her like this impressed her, Bucky was happy to oblige.

Instead of tossing her on the bed like a heap of potatoes, Bucky sat on the edge of her mattress, cradling her in his lap. They smiled at each other like dorks for a few seconds, their noses bumping together before Bucky cupped her head in his hand and pressed his lips against hers.

Darcy didn’t think she’d _ever_ get tired of the way it felt when he kissed her, and when Bucky’s tongue ran along her lower lip, she moaned unabashedly, letting him in. They battled for dominance for a few minutes before Bucky decided to play dirty, slipping his metal hand under the hem of her nightshirt and tracing his fingertips over her back, right above her panties.

She broke away from his lips on a gasp, but Bucky simply continued on his way, kissing down her chin and following the swoop of her throat to her clavicles. His fingers traced up and down her spine, before his flesh hand joined the party, and he was stroking the curves of her waist and hips with both hands.

“You’re burnin’ up,” he murmured, sucking little marks onto her throat.

Darcy laughed throatily, rolling her hips against that delightful bulge in his jeans and basking in Bucky’s broken groan. “Can’t imagine why.”

His mouth slackened against her collarbones as she wriggled and twisted against him, enjoying his reactions as well as the rough feeling of denim through her underwear. After a few moments of mutual torment, Bucky’s hands clamped down on her hips, stilling her movements.

“You keep doin’ that and this’ll be over real soon, doll,” he explained, with a self-deprecating smile.

Darcy shrugged. “I don’t mind.” It was absolutely true; watching Bucky orgasm would be a treat all its own.

“Well, _I do,_ ” Bucky retorted, maintaining his firm grip on her with his metal hand and allowing his right to wander up her ribcage. His eyes locked on hers as he brushed the underside of her breast, noting her reaction before cupping it fully in his palm, twisting his wrist just enough to allow his calloused thumb to rub across her nipple.

“Oh, Bucky,” she gasped, astonished by just how _amazing_ that small action felt. It looked like Bucky wasn’t the only one at risk of going off early.

Clearly confident that Darcy wasn’t going to try anything, Bucky brought his left hand up to mirror the right. The difference between the metal plates and calloused skin somehow made it even hotter, and she told him so.

Bucky laughed, dark and rich, his eyelids heavy as he watched the way she squirmed in response to his touch.

“Take your shirt off,” he said, smirking at the dazed look in her eyes as she fumbled to pull the t-shirt ( _his t-_ shirt) over her head without dislodging his hands.

The smirk on his face died a swift death as his eyes swept over her newly exposed skin. “Woah,” he managed, somewhat amazed that he hadn’t actually swallowed his tongue.

Darcy giggled at his flabbergasted expression. “Like what you see, Sarge?” Bucky’s eyes flickered up to meet hers, his irises almost completely swallowed by his pupils.

“Darce…you’re the most beautiful woman in the world.”

Darcy rolled her eyes a little bit. “Listen to you. First look at the girls and you’re turning into a poetic sap.”

Bucky pinched her nipples in retaliation, grinning when she yelped and ground her hips against him even harder. “I thought you were the most beautiful woman in the world the very first time I saw you.”

That got a blush out of her.

“First time I saw you, I thought you looked super hot and super sad,” she said softly, tenderly rubbing his scalp with her fingertips.

Bucky could practically _feel_ the wave of mushy emotions rushing through his body. He slid his hands to Darcy’s back, pulling her closer to him. “I ain’t sad anymore, sweetheart, and you’re the reason why.”

Darcy’s lip wobbled, and she leant forward, burying her face in his hair. “You’re going to make me cry,” she confided, whisper-soft against his ear.

“I ain’t trying to make you cry, I’m trying to make you come,” he retorted, nipping at her shoulder with his teeth.

Darcy laughed. “Now who’s the cannibal, you dirty dog.”

Bucky hummed low in his throat, reaching down and gripping her ample ass in his hands. “Dunno about cannibalism, doll…but I’d be _down_ for _eatin’_ you,” he said, wiggling his eyebrows at her in case she didn’t pick up on his sensational double-entendre.

“You’re a dork, James Buchanan Barnes,” she huffed, clearly amused.

“That a yes?”

Darcy snorted, but there was a vivid blush painting her cheeks and throat red. “You’re offering me oral sex, Bucky. There is zero percent chance I’d turn that down.”

Bucky felt a surge of confidence. She wanted him, really, truly _wanted_ him. And he was going to make it good for her. He’d had a fair bit of practice in his youth, and he sincerely hoped that muscle memory would guide him along.

Twisting and pushing her back onto the bed, Bucky pressed another kiss to her beautiful, full lips before sucking a line of faint hickeys down the side of her neck. Darcy made these little gasping sounds that seemed to automatically make his hips grind against her in search of friction.

When he reached her chest, he felt her hands at his sides, insistently tugging up the ends of his Henley.

“You trying to get me naked?” He teased, glancing up at her in amusement.

Darcy glowered at him. “You’re still fully dressed. Pretty sure that’s a crime.”

Bucky chuckled under his breath and sat back on his heels, reaching for the collar of his shirt with his right hand and pulling it over his head in one go.

He instantly felt Darcy’s gaze as it roved over his chest and stomach. A small part of him wanted to hide the vicious scarring around his prosthetic, but before he could do anything, Darcy’s warm little hands were stroking along his pecs and down his sides.

“You’re so fucking hot,” she breathed, as if speaking to herself. Bucky felt the ball of anxiety in his stomach slowly unravelling.

“Yeah? You approve?”

“Bucky, I’m not going to lie. I want to lick you all over.”

He struggled to breathe for a moment as a series of very filthy images ran through his head. “Uh…I could…uh…be amenable to that.”

Darcy waggled her eyebrows at him, biting her bottom lip in the way that always got to him. “Glad to hear it. I’m the birthday girl, you know, and I’d better get what I want.” Her hands were sliding up his arms now, testing out the feel of his muscles- both flesh and metal.

Bucky forgot what they’d been talking about when her right hand traced the scar tissue around his prosthetic. Their eyes locked for a moment before Darcy tilted her head forward and gently pressed a trail of butterfly kisses to the mangled skin, following its path down his ribcage and over the black lines of his soul-mark, which were afforded an extra kiss. It felt a bit strange, because of the damaged nerve-endings, but somehow it was a _good_ kind of weird because it was Darcy doing it.

“I could bounce a quarter off your abs,” she said suddenly, shifting to run her tongue in a line from his navel to his throat.

Bucky managed a breathy laugh.

“Mmm, I was right. You _do_ taste amazing,” Darcy said, grinning as she pressed a loud kiss to the dip in his chin.

“Hey, now. I thought I was having _my_ wicked way with _you_ ,” he chided, half-heartedly.

“Oh, you can still have your wicked way with me, Sarge…but I think _I_ want to drive you nuts, first.” With that, Darcy slid off the bed, coaxing him to lie where she’d just been. He smiled at the sight of the stick-on glow-in-the-dark stars on her ceiling.

“Stark know you’ve defaced his property?” He asked, grinning as Darcy fiddled with the buttons of his jeans, casting him a disgruntled look.

“No, and if he _does_ happen to find out, I’ll know who told him,” she said, attempting to pinch his belly. “For fuck sake, Bucky, you’re so ripped I can’t even pinch you properly.”

Bucky managed a shaky laugh. “Oh, sorry. When you said you were going to drive me nuts, I didn’t think you meant pinching my stomach.”

Darcy stuck her tongue out at him, impatiently tugging his jeans open and pulling them off his hips. Her brain might have shorted out for a brief moment as her eyes took in the sight of his Adonis belt, and his black boxer briefs that strained over his delicious thighs.

“Oh boy,” she muttered to herself. Bucky was so attractive and sexy that it probably shouldn’t be allowed, in all honesty. How was she supposed to function in daily life when she’d seen him like this?

Bucky shifted on her bed. “What?”

Darcy smiled at the nervousness in his voice. “You are seriously the most attractive man I’ve ever seen.”

Bucky snorted. “Now who’s the pervy poet?”

“I would totally write poetry about your thighs, they’re works of art,” she joked, tentatively skimming her fingertips under the elastic waistband. “Is this okay?”

“Yes,” he whispered. He sounded wrecked, but in the good way, not the don’t-touch-me way.

She gently stroked the pad of her thumb against the head of his cock, delighted by the pre-cum already beading on the silky soft skin.

Bucky’s hips jerked violently, knocking her hand away.

“Easy there, you’re like a bucking bronco,” Darcy teased, glancing up to smile at him. When she moved her hand to touch him again, Bucky’s cybernetic one latched onto her wrist, holding her still.

“Wait…just a second.” Bucky blushed, looking away as his jaw clenched tight.

Darcy leaned up, gently stroking the taut tendons with her free hand until they released. “What’s wrong?” She tried to catch his eye, but he seemed determined to look anywhere but at her.

Bucky’s voice was rough when he finally answered. “I don’t…don’t want to… _disappoint_ you. It’s been…years.” His flesh hand came up to run roughly through his hair.

Darcy gently cupped his face in her hand, smiling softly as his stubbornness gave way, and his eyes locked on hers.

“Bucky, it’s okay. This isn’t some weird test that’s ‘pass’ or ‘fail’. This is just us enjoying being together, being closer with each other. You don’t have to impress me with your moves. I just want you as you are. I want to make you happy,” she explained, kissing his lips.

Bucky’s eyes shone as he looked up at her. “You do, Darce. You do,” he promised, curling a loose strand of hair behind her ear.

Darcy’s cheeks hurt from smiling so widely. Her old-fashioned boyfriend was quite the romantic sap, in spite of his fearsome reputation.

“I’m glad, but right now I want to make you so ecstatic you see stars,” she whispered, leaning down to kiss each of his nipples.

“Well…”

“Not the stars on the ceiling,” she chided, glowering in the face of his amused smirk.

There was her Bucky. The sarcastic little shit.

Moving slowly so as to give him time to tell her to back off (if needed), Darcy carefully tugged his boxers down, tossing them onto her bedroom floor.

She tried _really_ hard not to stare and lick her lips like this was her first time getting up close and personal with a man, but…Bucky definitely ran to scale, and Darcy was once again left feeling like the luckiest woman in the world as she wrapped her hand around the base of his cock.

She listened to every noise that came out of Bucky’s mouth, adjusting her technique and moves until he was babbling incoherently.

Determined to absolutely rock his world, she suddenly dipped down and ran her tongue up the length of him, decadently sucking on the head of his cock and moaning at the feel and taste of him on her tongue.

She didn’t get to enjoy it for too long, because a slight choking sound rose from Bucky’s throat as he jack-knifed up, catching her off guard. “Darce- I’m gonna-”

With a parting kiss to the crown, Darcy let her hand get back to work as she pushed herself up to press her lips to Bucky’s, pushing against his torso with her free arm until he lay back on the bed, his spine arching as he came in a torrent of heat all across his stomach and her hand.

Grinning triumphantly, she pressed little butterfly kisses across his cheeks, and nose, and forehead, and the dip in his chin, as he slowly came down from his high.

He hadn’t felt anything close to ecstasy like that in at least seventy years, if ever. Bucky smiled blearily up at Darcy, sure that he could see a halo shining above her head.

“Woah,” he croaked, grinning lopsidedly at her. Darcy couldn’t help but giggle and preen a little bit at the sheer awe in his expression.

And she’d only given him a hand-job, with a tiny bit of tongue action thrown in for good measure.

“Woah indeed. You looked so hot when you came,” she murmured, leaning down for a long, slow, sloppy kiss. Seeing Bucky like that had really set her own engine revving, and she was more than ready for him to do his gentlemanly duty and reciprocate.

Thankfully, Bucky was also ready. After wiping his stomach clean with his discarded shirt.

“My turn,” he whispered against her lips, his voice rough from shouting. That was the only warning Darcy got before the world was spinning and she found herself trapped beneath over two hundred pounds of super soldier.

Not the worst place to be in the world.

Bucky put in a bit of time ensuring that the hickies he’d previously left on her neck were still fresh, before licking and sucking her nipples so intently that Darcy genuinely thought she would come from that stimulation alone.

Mercifully, Bucky limited himself to simply kissing a light trail down her stomach before he reached for her underwear with his metal hand and-

“Hey! I really liked those!” Darcy cried as he tossed away the tattered remnants of her polka-dot panties.

“Sorry, doll. I’ll make it up to you,” Bucky murmured, right before licking a broad stripe up her pussy and getting to work on completely ruining her for other men.

After Bucky had spent _an age_ patiently tracing all sorts of shapes over her clit, and Darcy had gripped his hair dangerously tight as she rocked against his face, it only took two of his fingers curling wickedly against her g-spot to have her inelegantly convulsing with orgasm.

“Oh my God,” she gasped, feeling like a fish out of water, “Oh my God. I don’t think I can feel my legs- what have you _done_ to me, Bucky?”

Bucky merely chuckled, rubbing his mouth against her inner thigh and pressing a parting kiss to her overly-sensitive clit before he shifted up to lie beside her on the bed, propping himself up on an elbow.

“Well, did I make up for ruining your panties?” He asked, gazing down at her with the beginnings of a cocky little grin.

Darcy blew a raspberry. “You know you did. That tongue of yours is a dangerous weapon.”

Bucky laughed; the breadth of his smile and the way the corners of his eyes crinkled made her heart leap.

“I’ll bear that in mind,” he promised, trailing a finger up and down her arm. Darcy’s hands were currently occupied with stroking his abs. “Are you only interested in me for my tongue and my abs?”

Darcy smirked at him. “And your thighs. Don’t forget your thighs- I never do.”

Bucky snorted. He’d never heard of a dame admiring a guy’s thighs before.

“What’s so great about my thighs?”

Darcy stared up at him in astonishment. “ _Bucky,_ they’re bulky and beautiful, and I want to bounce up and down on them like a demented rabbit someday.”

Bucky gaped at her. “What?”

“Y’know, like I want to ride you ‘til we both collapse, and a highlight of that will be sitting on your delicious thighs,” she explained, straight-faced and matter-of-fact.

Bucky was having a bit of trouble breathing as his devious mind helpfully supplied him with a montage of images wherein Darcy…bounced on his thighs.

The next thing he knew, Darcy’s hand was stroking his cock, which had made quite a recovery while he was eating her out, but which was positively straining after she divulged her fantasy.

He was all about keeping his girl happy.

“Doll, you can definitely ride me _any time._ ”

“I’d like that in writing, Sergeant,” she whispered against his lips, her eyes shining mischievously.

“Done,” he promised, stealing another kiss.

Darcy’s hand was still wandering a path between his abs and his cock, and it was getting difficult for Bucky to focus on much else.

“So, how do you want to do this?” Darcy asked, voice hushed low with intimacy.

“Um… _ahhh_ …seriously, whatever you want.”

Darcy pouted, firmly placing her hand on his stomach. “Really? You don’t have any fantasies about me that you’d like to fulfil?”

Bucky quirked a brow at her. “You asking me if I jerk off thinking about you?”

“Maybe.”

“Y’know, the nuns used to tell us that masturbating made you go blind,” he said, suppressing a laugh.

Darcy smirked. “Yeah, they told us the same. I bet you tested out that theory a lot.”

Bucky tried to look indignant. “How dare you, I was a good Catholic boy. I went to Mass twice a week, and confession at least once.”

Darcy descended into a fit of giggles. “ _Good Catholic boy!_ Yeah right!”

Bucky pinched her side, grinning delightedly as Darcy shrieked and tried to squirm away. “Don’t even think about it James Buchanan Barnes!” she warned.

Bucky grimaced. “You know it weirds me out when you call me that…let alone when we’re in bed together, _naked._ ’

“Fine. No tickling from you, in exchange for no ‘Buchanan’ from me. Deal?”

“Deal,” Bucky agreed, meeting Darcy’s knuckles with his in their ‘special’ fist bump. (Darcy called it ‘special’, Bucky wasn’t sure how it differed from a normal fist bump, but he didn’t dare argue.)

Darcy lazily shifted herself about until her head was resting back on a pillow. “I notice that you didn’t answer my question.”

“What question?”

“About whether you fantasise about me…about _us,_ ” she said, grinning lasciviously at him.

Bucky snorted. “’Course I do. You ever seen yourself in a mirror?”

Darcy preened under his compliment. “So tell me one! I told you my thigh one.”

“Fine, fine. So, one morning after I’ve been running, or working out in the gym, I’m showering in the locker room, yeah? But you’ve decided to skive off work, and you come looking for me. You sneak in the shower with me, and you let me go down on you while the warm water’s raining down on us. After I make you come that way, I lift you up and you wrap your legs tight around my waist while I fuck you against the shower wall.”

He’d started out feeling a bit embarrassed to say something so _blue_ to Darcy, but by the time he’d finished, Bucky was more than ready to make that fantasy a reality. He glanced over at Darcy, who was staring at him open-mouthed.

“Wow, that’s so hot,” she said, her voice husky with arousal. She hadn't pegged Bucky for an exhibitionist. “We’re definitely going to do that someday. And by some day, I basically mean tomorrow.”

Bucky grinned at her, nuzzling her sweat-damp temple. “Yeah? Well if I’m getting my fantasy tomorrow, I think you should get yours today.”

Darcy bit her lip to hide the enormous smile that was threatening. “I think that’s only fair. I mean, it _is_ my birthday, after all.”

“Mmm got to keep my birthday girl happy,” he agreed.

Darcy sat up, twisting over to reach the drawer on the bedside table. “Here,” she said, lobbing a small foil package onto Bucky’s stomach.

“What’s this?”

Darcy giggled. “A condom.”

Bucky glowered at her. “Well they looked different, back in the day. And I’ve hardly had opportunity to use one since, now have I?”

“Good,” Darcy purred, nipping at his lips as she plucked the condom from his fingers, deftly unwrapping it and getting it in position. “Because I feel a bit possessive about you, if I’m honest.”

Bucky gulped at the feel of her hand roughly stroking him through the latex- it was so much thinner than the protection he had used back in the 40s, and he knew that being inside her was going to blow his mind. “I f-feel the same, doll.”

Darcy swung one beautiful leg across his hips, resting her hands on his chest to keep herself from actually making contact with him. “Still sure?” she asked softly, her gaze searching his for any reticence.

Bucky felt a delicious warmth pulse through him in the face of her concern. “I’m sure, doll,” he said, sliding his palms up the silky skin of her thighs and gripping onto her hips, holding her steady as she reached between them to direct his cock towards her entrance.

The first press inside had them moaning in unison, but when Darcy suddenly rolled her hips and took him to the hilt, their eyes met and they had to hold off a fit of giggles at each other’s amazed expression.

“Wow,” Bucky managed, not sure that his brain was engaged for much else. The feel of Darcy around him, the intimacy of knowing that he was doing this with _her-_ it was almost overwhelming.

Darcy smiled hazily at him, scratching her nails lightly against his pecs. “Mmmm I know. You feel amazing,” she whispered, nibbling on her lip as she started to roll her hips experimentally against him.

The next few minutes seemed to stretch out into an eternity of pleasure for both of them, as they each had their first experience of soul-bonded sex.

Unfortunately, Bucky really hadn’t been joking when he’d warned Darcy he was out of practice- around seventy years out of practice, and he was quickly discovering just how _sensitive_ he really was in the face of her talented moves.

He wanted to be good for her; he wanted to rock her world like she was rocking his, but-

“Fuck, Darce…I _can’t-_ ”

“It’s not…not a contest, remember?” she huffed, sounding thoroughly winded with desire as she fulfilled her long-awaited fantasy of bouncing on Bucky’s thick thighs.

Bucky knew that Darcy wouldn't really be disappointed if he came first, but he’d be disappointed, so he grit his teeth, began reciting the national anthem in his head, and brought his metal thumb down to circle Darcy’s clit.

Just as he finished the last line of the anthem, Darcy stiffened against him, her quivering arms giving out as she collapsed on his chest, delirious in the midst of her orgasm.

Bucky offered up a silent prayer of thanks, before following her into the abyss of bliss.

They lay in a slumped, sweaty heap for several minutes before Darcy rolled away enough to let him do the necessary.

“So…was that my birthday present?” she asked, grinning cheekily.  Her cheeks were flushed bright red, her eyes were still so dilated that they looked black, her hair looked like a bird’s nest, and the hickies on her neck made it look as though she’d had a nasty run-in with some poison ivy.

She’d never so looked so beautiful in all the months he’d known her.

Bucky nodded with mock-solemnity. “Yes ma’am. I hope it was to your satisfaction. No refunds or exchanges, I’m afraid.”

Darcy laughed, trailing a finger through his chest hair and glancing up at him through her eyelashes. “Oh, I was _very_ satisfied. And you?”

Bucky pretended to consider.

“Best sex I’ve had in seventy years, no doubt,” he said, chuckling as an indignant Darcy hit him playfully with the one cushion that had survived their bedroom athletics.

“Wanna know a secret?” Darcy asked thoughtfully, settling down against his side again.

“Always.”

“I love you,” she replied, kissing his metal shoulder.

Bucky grinned up at the stick-on stars before kissing the crown of Darcy’s head.

It was no secret that she loved him. And it was no secret that he was the luckiest bastard in the universe.

“I love you too, Darce. Happy birthday.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> So that was fun!
> 
> Unfortunately this is where our little tale ends for now- I have a sequel and some one-shots in mind, but I haven't begun writing yet and don't know when I will as I'm working on 2 other new fics right now. I do hope to revisit this story though :)
> 
>  **NB** Shout out to the dedicated group of awesome people who commented tirelessly throughout this fic- you know who you are, and I appreciate you so much :)


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